UNIVERSITY    OF   PENNSYLVANIA 


THE    LIFE   AND    DRAMATIC 

WORKS     OF     ROBERT 

MONTGOMERY  BIRD 


BY 
CLEMENT  E.   £OUST,  A.M.,  PH.D. 

INSTRUCTOR    IN   ENGLISH,    UNIVERSITY   OF   PENNSYLVANIA 


A  THESIS 

PRESENTED  TO  THE  FACULTY  OF  THE  GRADUATE  SCHOOL 

IN  PARTIAL  FULFILLMENT  OF  THE  REQUIREMENTS 

FOR  THE  DEGREE  OF  DOCTOR  OF  PHILOSOPHY 


Imicfcerbocfter  press 

NEW  YORK 
1919 


EXCHANGE 


PS 

8 
27 


HO 

MY    MOTHER 

MARY  COMLY  FOUST 


3040 


PREFACE 

IT  is  a  matter  of  surprise  that  Robert  Mont 
gomery  Bird  has  hitherto  escaped  the  biographer. 
Excepting  the  brief  mention  in  textbooks  and 
encyclopedias,  virtually  nothing  has  been  written 
of  a  man  whose  name  was  once  well  known  to  the 
reading  public  of  both  America  and  England. 
Cast  into  cacophonous  German,  one  of  his  novels 
found  its  way  to  the  continent  and  ran  through 
successive  editions.  It  is,  of  course,  futile  to 
deprecate  the  verdicts  of  time  as  it  is  unsafe  to 
predict  them.  It  is  rather  the  purpose  of  this  book 
to  set  forth  the  claims  of  Dr.  Bird,  such  as  they 
are,  to  rank  among  American  men  of  letters;  and 
incidentally  to  explore  a  character  of  great  charm 
that  made  him  loved  of  all  that  knew  him. 

In  consequence  of  the  total  lack  of  Bird  Bio 
graphy  and  criticism,  the  present  writer  has  had 
to  depend  solely  on  first-hand  sources.  He  was 
fortunate,  through  the  kindness  of  Dr.  Bird's 
relatives,  in  having  at  his  disposal  all  the  extant 
family  papers, — letters,  diaries,  clippings,  personal 
account  books,  rough  and  final  drafts  of  novels 
and  plays,  and  other  miscellaneous  documentary 
material  of  which  there  is  a  great  abundance. 


vi  PREFACE 

Of  the  four  plays  in  this  volume,  Pelopidas,  The 
Gladiator,  and  Oralloossa  appear  in  print  for  the 
first  time.  The  Broker  of  Bogota  was  first  pub 
lished  in  Prof.  A.  H.  Quinn's  recent  volume, 
Representative  American  Plays;  and  although  the 
present  text  is  virtually  a  reprint  of  that,  it  was 
thought  desirable  to  include  the  play  with  the 
three  other  chief  dramatic  works  of  Bird.  In 
every  case,  as  is  stated  fully  elsewhere,  the  texts 
are  based  on  manuscripts  in  the  collection  of  Bird 
papers  at  the  Library  of  the  University  of  Penn 
sylvania. 

It  would  be  gratifying  to  mention  all  of  the 
many  kind  friends  who  have  helped  or  encouraged 
in  the  preparation  of  this  book.  But  space  permits 
of  only  brief  acknowledgments.  Dr.  Roland  G. 
Kent,  of  the  Latin  Department  of  the  University 
of  Pennsylvania,  cheerfully  answered  a  number  of 
queries;  Miss  Jean  Williams  of  Bristol,  Pennsyl 
vania,  and  Miss  Dorothy  Stock  of  Woodbury, 
New  Jersey,  aided  me  with  collation  and  proof 
reading;  Miss  Mary  Mack,  Mrs.  Barnes,  and  Mr. 
Beach  of  the  Edwin  Forrest  Home,  joined  in 
making  my  visits  at  the  Home  both  helpful  and 
enjoyable;  Miss  Emily  Rodney  and  Mr.  Henry 
Hanby  Hay  of  New  Castle,  Delaware,  hospitably 
acquaintedme  with  the  scenes  of  Dr.  Bird's  early 
years.  I  take  especial  pleasure  in  acknowledging 
the  aid  and  encouragement  that  were  mine  at  the 
hands  of  Dr.  Bird's  relatives.  I  wish  to  thank 
Mrs.  John  Struthers,  a  niece  of  Dr.  Bird,  and  Miss 


PREFACE  vii 

Helen  von  L.  Struthers  of  Philadelphia,  for  many 
delightful  hours  in  their  home  and  for  the  use  of 
their  manuscripts.  To  Mr.  Robert  Montgomery 
Bird  of  Bethlehem,  Pennsylvania,  the  grandson 
of  the  author,  more  is  due  than  can  be  told.  But 
for  his  exceptional  kindness  this  volume  had  never 
existed.  After  permitting  me  an  unrestricted  use  of 
his  grandfather's  papers,  he  generously  presented 
them  in  toto  to  the  Library  of  the  University  of 
Pennsylvania.  To  Prof.  Felix  E.  Schelling,  LL.D., 
of  Pennsylvania,  I  am  indebted  for  much  helpful 
criticism,  but  more  for  the  inspiration  of  an  ac 
quaintanceship  that  all  who  have  been  his  students 
must  know;  while  Prof.  Arthur  H.  Quinn,  Dean  of 
the  College,  not  only  suggested  the  subject  as  a 
thesis  in  American  literature,  but  gave  without 
stint  of  his  time  and  experience  in  supervising  the 
work. 


NORTH  WALES,  PA., 
June,  1918. 


CLEMENT  E.  FOUST. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PREFACE       .         .         .         .         .         .  v 

PART   I 
LIFE 

CHAPTER 

I. — BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE  i 

II. — EDUCATION        .         .         .         .         .       13 

III. — APPRENTICESHIP  AND  FIRST   SUCCESS, 

"THE  GLADIATOR"         ...       28 

IV. — FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS         .       50 
V. — A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST        ...      76 

VI. — MARRIAGE,   FARMING,  TEACHING,  AND 

POLITICS         .         .         .  .     1 08 

VII. — JOURNALISM       .....     130 

VIII. — LAST  DAYS 144 

APPENDICES       .         .         .         .         .161 
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE      .         .         .165 


CONTENTS 

PART   II 
DRAMATIC   WORKS 

PAGE 

PELOPIDAS         .         .         .         .         .  171 

THE  GLADIATOR         ....  297 

ORALLOOSSA       .         .         .                 .  441 

THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  .         .         .  577 

INDEX       .         .         .         .         .         .  723 


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The 

Life  and  Dramatic  Works  of 
Robert  Montgomery   Bird 


CHAPTER  I 

BIRTH  AND   PARENTAGE 

ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD  was  born  February 
5,  1806,  at  New  Castle,  Delaware.1  He  was  the 
son  of  John  and  Elizabeth  Van  Leuvenigh  Bird, 
the  sixth  of  seven  children.  Both  parents  came 
of  large  and  stable  families  that  had  lived  on 
their  Delaware  lands  for  generations.  They  had 
owned  farms,  married  well,  worthily  served  their 
communities,  and  were  reliable,  upright  people. 
From  them  Dr.  Bird  received  a  rich  inheritance 
of  character  and  health. 

The  Birds  trace  their  lineage  to  an  old  English 
family  from  Cheshire,  whither  originally  they  came 
from  Ireland.  John  Bird,  one  of  its  members, 
won  eminence  in  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.  He  was 

1  The  house  in  which  he  was  born,  now  numbered  216,  is  still 
to  be  seen  on  Delaware  Street  facing  the  old  "green"  or  market 
place. 

i 


2    LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

sent  by  the  King,  with  the  royal  almoner  and  a 
clerk  of  the  council,  to  the  divorced  Queen,  Cath 
erine  of  Aragon,  to  induce  her  to  forbear  the  name 
of  Queen,  "  which  nevertheless  she  would  not  do," 
the  documents  expressly  phrase  it.  He  was  suc 
cessively  bishop  of  Penrith,  bishop  of  Bangor,  and 
in  154)  nrS',  bishop  of  Chester.  At  the  Restoration, 
a  family  tradition  avers,  two  brothers  of  the  name, 
members  of  Parliament,  voted  against  King  Charles 
with  the  result  that  one  lost  his  head,  leaving  a 
widow  and  children  in  England.  The  other  was 
banished  to  America,  where  his  son  supposedly 
began  the  family  line.  Certain  it  is  that  Thomas 
Bird  settled  in  Delaware  about  1700  and  bought 
large  tracts  of  land  along  the  Red  Clay  Creek  and 
in  Christiana  Hundred.1  All  that  is  known  of 
Thomas  Bird  declares  him  a  man  of  worth  and 
honor,  a  leader  in  his  community.  He  married 
Sarah  Empson,  daughter  of  Cornelius  Empson,  a 
judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Pennsylvania,  and 
died  leaving  six  sons  and  four  daughters.  These 
and  their  children  added  to  farms,  already  great, 
land  in  that  loveliest  county  of  Delaware,  Brandy- 

1  In  1713  Thomas  Bird  bought  one  hundred  acres  on  the  eastern 
side  of  Red  Clay  Creek,  New  Castle  County;  in  1719  four  hun 
dred  acres  more  "cleared  by  purchase";  and  later  184  acres  in 
Christiana  Hundred.  For  the  original  survey  see  the  Taylor 
Papers,  New  Castle  County  Warrants  and  Surveys,  in  the  archives 
of  the  Pennsylvania  Historical  Society,  Philadelphia.  In  the 
main  my  account  of  the  Bird  and  Van  Leuvenigh  families  is  based 
on  genealogical  tables  owned  by  Mrs.  John  Struthers  of  Phila 
delphia,  a  niece  of  Dr.  Bird. 


BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE  3 

wine  Hundred,  and  passed  their  quiet  lives  upon 
its  rolling  uplands.  Their  bones  rest  in  the  quaint 
graveyard  of  Old  Swedes  Church,  Wilmington.1 
John  Bird  3d,  great-grandson  of  Thomas  and 
father  of  Robert  Montgomery,  was  born  in  Brandy- 
wine  Hundred,  April  25,  1769,  and  was  a  man  of 
wide  interests  and  varied  ability.  Although 
associated  with  James  Riddle,  ship-chandler,  at 
New  Castle,  he  filled  numerous  public  appoint 
ments  and  offices.  In  1797  he  was  one  of  the 
State's  commissioners  to  fix  the  boundaries  of  New 
Castle,  and  helped  to  survey  the  town,  assess  the 
properties,  and  list  the  residents.  In  1801  the 
New  Castle  Academy  was  incorporated  and  John 
Bird  made  a  trustee.  In  1 802  he  was  elected  to  the 
Senate  of  Delaware,  and  from  1804  to  1809  served 
as  a  State  representative.  He  married,  February, 
1795,  Elizabeth  Van  Leuvenigh,  and  died  at  New 
Castle,  April  12,  1810,  leaving  six  sons  and  a 
daughter.  Plainly  John  Bird  lived  a  life,  though 
short  in  years,  uncommonly  rich  and  full;  a 
prompt  man  of  affairs,  a  pioneer  in  his  home  town, 
who  had  helped  to  organize  its  institutions  and 
incorporate  its  citizenry.  It  is  of  more  significance 
in  the  light  of  his  son's  accomplishment,  to  note 
that  he  was  also  a  man  of  genuine  literary  interests. 
He  was  a  reading  man,  and  knew  and  loved  the 
masterpieces.  It  is  especially  worthy  of  note  that 

'John  Bird  1st,  son  of  Thomas,  was  born  in  1705  and  died 
in  1754.  John  Bird  2d,  grandson  of  Thomas,  and  grandfather 
of  Dr.  Bird,  was  born  in  1738  and  died  in  1776. 


4     LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

he  left  a  manuscript  book  of  verse  that  he  himself 
composed. 

The  mother's  stock  exhibits  in  like  degree  char 
acter  and  sturdy  worth.  God-fearing,  honorable, 
and  industrious,  they  early  became  influential  and 
rich.  From  about  1700,  also,  it  seems,  this  family 
had  resided  in  Delaware,  for  within  a  year  of  that 
date  Hendrick  Van  Leuvenigh,  of  Amsterdam, 
left  Holland,  sailed  to  America,  and  settled  in 
Appoquinimink  Hundred,  New  Castle  County. 
Here  on  a  tract  of  two  hundred  and  twenty-five 
acres,  which  he  named  " Black  Walnut  Landing," 
he  lived  until  about  1716,  leaving  three  sons  as  his 
issue,  John,  Henry,  and  Philip.  Zachariah  Van 
Leuvenigh,  son  of  John  and  grandfather  of  Dr. 
Bird,  was  one  of  the  foremost  citizens  of  New 
Castle.  He  numbered  among  his  friends  George 
Read,  Thomas  McKean,  a  signer  of  the  Declara 
tion  of  Independence,  Chief  Justice  McWilliams, 
Judge  Finney,  and  Governor  Van  Dyke.  In  1756 
he  was  commissioned  an  ensign  of  the  "  Upper 
Regiment  of  New  Castle  County,"  raised  for  ser 
vice  in  the  French  and  Indian  War.  In  1761  his 
name  was  affixed  as  one  of  the  ' '  Principal  Inhabi 
tants"  of  the  county  to  a  proclamation  of  alle 
giance  sent  by  the  Deputy  Governor  and  Council 
of  Pennsylvania  to  King  George  III.  of  England. 
After  the  battle  of  Lexington,  on  April  19,  1775, 
mounted  messengers  were  sent  throughout  the 
colonies  to  spread  the  news  of  victory.  At  New 
Castle  Zachariah  Van  Leuvenigh  and  Stephen 


BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE  5 

Spencer  in  behalf  of  the  town  received  the  missive, 
indorsed  it  as  proof  of  delivery,  and  sent  it  on  its 
way  to  the  South.  He  married  Ann  Armitage, 
daughter  of  Hon.  James  Armitage,  May  27,  1755. 
Both  lie  buried  in  the  yard  of  old  Immanuel 
Church  at  New  Castle,  where  throughout  their 
lives  they  were  members.  Of  their  children,  Mary 
married  Nicholas  Van  Dyke,  who  was  to  count  so 
much  in  shaping  the  career  of  young  Bird;  and 
Elizabeth,  successively,  John  Bird  3d  and  the 
Rev.  Samuel  Barr. 

It  is  worth  our  while  to  examine  this  heritage  of 
Dr.  Bird.  Clearly  there  was  nothing  unusual 
about  it,  except  perhaps  the  uniformity  with  which 
they  possessed  the  fundamentals — piety,  enlighten 
ment,  stability,  and  health.  John  and  Elizabeth 
Bird  were  of  a  stock  of  people  who  seldom  left 
their  names  in  history  or  even  figured  in  the  news 
papers,  but  who  passed  quiet,  fruitful  lives  in  the 
daily  round  of  duties  that  lay  next  them.  For 
generations  they  had  prospered  and  were  well-to- 
do.  On  both  sides  they  had  supplied  their  share 
of  leading  citizens  who  struck  deep  roots  in  local 
affairs.  Socially,  they  were  a  conservative  peo 
ple  ;  physically — at  least  this  was  true  of  the  Birds 
— they  were  of  the  race  of  Anek,  tall  and  strong 
of  frame ;  and  intellectually,  as  we  have  seen,  alert, 
steady,  versatile,  and  in  one  case  at  least  pos 
sessed  with  definitely  literary  tastes.  John  Bird, 
the  father  of  Dr.  Bird,  found  time  in  a  crowded 
life  of  affairs  to  read,  and  even  to  write  verse. 


6     LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

But  the  blessing  of  a  father's  guidance  Robert 
Montgomery  Bird  was  not  long  to  enjoy.  In  the 
early  months  of  the  year  1810  the  firm  of  Bird  & 
Riddle,  government  navy  agents,  met  with  sudden 
and  calamitous  reverses  ending  in  bankruptcy 
and  a  total  loss  of  the  fortunes  of  both  partners. 
In  consequence,  on  April  12,  1810,  John  Bird 
suddenly  died  of  an  aneurism  of  the  heart,  leaving 
penniless  a  wife  and  seven  children.  The  con 
sequences  of  a  calamity  so  overwhelming  can  be 
easily  surmised.  The  immediate  effect  was  to 
disperse  the  family,  which  was  never  reunited. 
The  older  boys  were  obliged  to  go  where  necessity 
led  them.  Mrs.  Bird,  with  her  youngest  son, 
Henry,  moved  to  humbler  quarters  in  New  Castle, 
and  later  occupied  for  months  at  a  time  "The 
Hermitage,"  a  lovely  countryseat  of  the  Van  Dykes 
still  to  be  seen  a  quarter  of  a  mile  west  of  New 
Castle.  Hers  was  no  easy  task.  The  War  of  1812 
was  threatening  and  times  were  hard;  besides  in 
those  days  few  employments  were  open  to  women, 
even  to  those  of  education.  But  a  strength  of 
spirit,  born  of  hardship  and  affection,  enabled  her 
to  provide  for  those  who  were  still  dependent  upon 
her  until  her  marriage  in  1815  with  the  man  who 
twenty  years  before  had  blessed  her  first  union, 
the  Rev.  Samuel  Barr.  Robert  Montgomery 
Bird,  then  four  years  old,  went  into  the  home  of  his 
uncle,  the  Hon.  Nicholas  Van  Dyke  of  New  Castle. 

In  his  new  surroundings,  young  Bird  was  very 
far  from  unfortunate.  The  Van  Dyke  family 


BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE  7 

was  one  of  the  oldest,  ablest,  and  stateliest  in 
Delaware.  Nicholas  Van  Dyke,  senior,  had  been 
a  member  of  the  Council  of  Safety  in  1776,  had 
helped  to  frame  the  Constitution  of  Delaware,  and 
was  President  of  the  State  from  1783  to  1786.  His 
son,  with  whom  Bird  now  made  his  home,  was  simi 
larly  a  man  of  note.  Educated  at  Nassau  Hall, 
he  early  won  distinction  at  the  bar,  had  served  his 
State  in  its  legislature,  and  was  successively  a 
member  of  the  House  and  the  Senate  at  Washing 
ton  in  1809  and  1817.  General  Lafayette  counted 
him  "one  of  the  first  statesmen  in  rank  whom  he 
knew  in  America."  He  was  a  man  of  stern  in 
tegrity,  with  views  on  education  and  religion  that 
bordered  on  the  severe.  A  jurist  and  a  statesman 
of  large  experience,  he  was  probably,  too,  an  elo 
quent  and  incisive  talker.  And  what  of  the  guests 
that  came  to  dine  or  spend  the  night?  Many 
must  have  been  the  lawyers  and  men  of  affairs  who 
dropped  in  frequently  in  busy  talk  about  state 
matters.  To  an  alert,  docile  boy  like  Bird  such 
association  must  have  been  most  powerfully 
stimulating  and  directive.  In  any  case  he  now 
acquired  a  habit  of  industry  and  a  love  of  reading 
that  lasted  throughout  his  life.  His  character,  too, 
was  confirmed  in  the  ways  of  honor.  Mr.  Van 
Dyke  being  a  ruling  elder  and  an  active  member  of 
the  Presbyterian  Church,  it  may  be  supposed  that 
Bird,  with  the  rest  of  the  family,  was  brought  up 
strictly  to  habits  of  church  attendance. 

Nor  was  his  new  environment  either  bleak  or 


8     LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

colorless.  Dorcas  Van  Dyke,  a  pretty,  sympa 
thetic  girl  of  his  own  years,  became  his  confidante 
and  advocate  and  from  the  comradeship  there 
flowed  to  each  a  permanently  ennobling  influence. 
Her  character,  years  afterward,  he  lovingly  set 
forth  in  Nanna  Howard,  in  The  Adventures  of 
Robin  Day.  The  account  depicts,  of  course,  a 
later  stage  of  their  friendship,  which,  however,  had 
its  beginnings  at  this  time.1  "The  development 
of  her  faculties,"  runs  the  narrative,  "her  rapid 
advance  in  beauty,  grace,  sweetness  of  disposition, 
—in  everything  that  could  warm  the  heart  and 
influence  the  pride  of  a  doting  father  were  indeed 
surprising ;  and  at  the  time  of  which  I  speak — that 
is  when  I  had  reached  what  was  supposed  to  be 
the  verge  of  my  eighteenth  year — she  was  a 
creature,  being  nearly  fifteen  years  old,  whom  no 
one  could  look  upon  without  interest  or  imagina 
tion.  ,  She  was  the  loveliest  of  creatures;  and  I, 
who  had  grown  to  regard  her  and  to  call  her  a 
sister,  was  as  proud  of  her  beauty  as  was  my  pa 
tron,  her  father  himself.  ...  It  could  not  be 
otherwise  than  that  such  a  being  with  whom  my 
daily  and  hourly  intercourse  was  that  of  a  brother, 
should  sooner  or  later  exercise  a  strong  and  happy 
influence,  even  without  knowing  it  herself,  over 
both  my  manners  and  my  feelings;  and  it  is  to  the 

1  Chapter  IX.  According  to  Dr.  Bird's  wife,  Mrs.  Mary  Bird, 
The  Adventures  of  Robin  Day  is  autobiographical  in  several  chap 
ters,  especially  those  narrating  the  youth  and  education  of  Robin 
Day. 


BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE  9 

commencement  of  that  influence,  more  than  to  the 
remonstrance  of  my  patron,  that  I  date  the  first 
improvement  in  both.  So  true  is  it  that  the  silent, 
and  even  unsuspected  influence  of  woman  sways 
the  heart  more  strongly  to  virtue  and  manliness 
than  the  wisest  admonitions  of  the  sages.  "  When 
she  was  married  years  afterward  on  Oct.  6,  1824, 
to  Charles  Irenee  Du  Pont,  Lafayette,  then  visit 
ing  America,  graciously  honored  the  occasion  with 
his  presence,  occupying  an  elevated  seat,  where 
through  doors  and  windows  kept  open  for  the 
purpose,  the  citizens  of  New  Castle  viewed  both 
him  and  the  ceremony. x 

From  these  early  years  Bird  gave  hints  of  rich 
promise,  and  yet  he  was  not  abnormal  or  eccentric. 
He  had  what  has  been  termed  a  '  *  successful  child 
hood,  "  going  the  rounds  of  fun  and  mishap  eagerly, 
honestly,  and  pugnaciously.  His  wife's  account 
describes  him  as  a  spirited,  exuberant  boy,  with 
even  more  than  the  usual  push  of  youth,  a  leader 
at  cricket,  a  lover  of  adventure,  and  a  crack  at  a 
bout  or  a  tussle.2  Once  with  another  young  ex 
plorer,  it  seems,  he  barely  missed  drowning  on  a 
drifting  ice  floe  in  a  bight  of  the  Delaware  off  New 
Castle.  The  scenes  of  the  Brandy  wine,  near  which 
Mrs.  Bird  lived  for  a  time,  lay  at  hand  rich  in 

1  American  Historical  Register,  vol.  iii.,  p.  634. 

2  Mrs.  Bird  left  a  manuscript  sketch  of  her  husband's  life 
numbering  eighty -odd  pages,  presented  with  the  Bird  Papers  to 
the  Library  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania  by  the  grandson 
of  Dr.  Bird,  Mr.  Robert  M.  Bird,  of  Bethlehem,  Pennsylvania. 


io  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

historic  beauty;  while  the  ruins  of  the  old  Dutch 
town,  New  Amstel,  supplied  him  with  endless 
tales  of  ghosts  and  haunted  houses.  Here  was  a 
life  in  the  open,  not  dull  enough  to  stifle,  yet  health 
fully  free  from  the  rush  and  irritation  of  a  city. 
Unlike  the  ordinary  boy,  Bird  was  extremely 
imaginative  and  acutely  sensitive.  His  imagina 
tion,  his  wife  relates,  was  the  source  of  peculiar 
enjoyment.  His  greatest  pleasure  was  to  steal 
from  all  and  stretch  full  length  in  his  uncle's 
garden  and  give  full  rein  to  that  imagination 
which  had  already  begun  to  assert  its  supremacy. 
This  faculty,  discovered  and  cherished  in  secret, 
became  the  source  of  his  most  exquisite  enjoyment. 
He  had  been  often  heard  to  say  that  no  actual 
scenes  displayed  before  his  physical  eyes  were  more 
distinct,  more  detailed,  or  better  remembered. 
The  Van  Dyke  home  stood  at  the  corner  of  Dela 
ware  and  Orange  streets,  New  Castle,  and  had  in 
the  rear  a  deep,  narrow  garden  with  arbored  walks 
and  flower  plots.  Hither  he  often  stole  to  read 
again  and  again  with  the  sharp  zest  of  childhood 
books  of  adventure,  travel,  and  history.  To  a 
mind  so  swiftly  absorptive  as  his,  who  can  assess 
the  nutritive  value  of  such  reading  ? 

There  was  much,  besides,  in  the  old  town  of 
New  Castle  itself  to  stir  and  quicken  a  nature  fond 
of  romance.  Had  there  actually  been  a  choice  of 
environment,  one  could  scarcely  have  been  found 
richer  in  history  and  tradition.  "Like  Salem 
in  New  England  and  Charleston  in  the  South, " 


BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE  n 

New  Castle  has  always  had  a  flavor  and  distinction. 
In  colonial  days  it  was  a  seat  of  wealth  and  cul 
tivation;  there  dwelt  the  first  families  of  Delaware, 
— the  Johns,  the  Van  Dykes,  the  Armitages,  the 
Stocktons,  the  Rodneys,  and  the  Reads.  Since 
then  its  position  off  the  main  lines  of  traffic  and  the 
swift  growth  of  Wilmington  have  shut  it  off  from 
the  commercializing  effects  of  trades  and  industries. 
In  consequence  it  has  kept  to  a  degree  the  mellow 
charm  of  early  times.  Nor  is  its  past  without  its 
stirring  scenes.  Near  its  site  stood  Fort  Casimir, 
built  in  1631  by  the  Dutch,  who  shortly  after 
built  the  town  of  New  Amstel,  captured  in  1664 
by  the  English  and  renamed  New  Castle.  At  its 
quaint  court-house  William  Penn,  upon  landing  in 
America,  October  28,  1682,  received  from  the  Duke 
of  York's  Commissioners  the  symbols  of  ownership, 
a  key  of  the  fort,  some  water,  some  turf,  and  a 
twig.  Under  its  main  girders  are  heavy  timber 
pillars  upon  which  in  olden  days  the  hands  of  man- 
slaughterers  were  placed  while  the  sizzling  iron 
branded  them  with  the  letters  M.  S.  A.  " until  the 
fumes  filled  the  room. "  As  a  port  of  entry  and  a 
station  on  the  old  stage  route  between  Philadelphia 
and  Baltimore,  New  Castle  has  seen  many  men  of 
prominence.  Here  Washington,  supposedly,  and 
Lafayette  attended  notable  weddings.  Black 
Hawk  and  Jackson  have  walked  its  streets,  adding 
each  his  cluster  to  the  town's  traditions.  Archi 
tecturally  the  town  has  long  been  of  interest. 
Nowhere  in  America  can  be  found  finer  types  of 


12  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

the  old  colonial  home.  The  stately  entrances 
and  hallways,  the  plain  lintels  cut  like  flat  arches 
and  set  flush  with  the  wall,  the  beautifully  turned 
bannisters,  and  secret  panels  must  all  have  shed 
upon  the  sensitive  mind  of  young  Bird  a  pervasively 
gracious  influence.  New  Castle  is  a  river  town, 
and  from  the  windows  of  houses  along  the  strand 
could  be  seen  on  a  level  expanse  of  the  Delaware, 
steamers  and  freighters  plying  their  silent  ways, 
as  could  those  of  the  Dutch,  the  Swedes,  and  the 
English  in  days  of  long  ago.  In  such  surroundings, 
then,  mellow  with  tradition  and  romance,  Robert 
Montgomery  Bird  dreamed  the  dreams  of  boyhood 
and  saw  the  " visions  of  grandeur"  which  pleas 
antly  lingered  with  him  through  all  the  years  of 
manhood. 


CHAPTER   II 

EDUCATION 

THE  only  school  in  New  Castle  during  Bird's 
boyhood  was  New  Castle  Academy.  The  original 
building  is  still  a  picturesque  sight  on  the  old 
public  green  next  to  Immanuel  Church.  Although 
enlarged  and  modernized,  it  remains  untouched  in 
its  main  lines — a  rectangular  structure  of  brick 
with  numerous  windows,  a  central  hall  opening  on 
the  walled  yard  behind,  a  quaint,  divided  stairway, 
and  neat  sunshiny  classrooms.  From  its  incor 
poration  in  1801  John  Bird  had  been  a  trustee, 
and  hither  young  Bird  was  sent  for  his  elementary 
schooling. 

The  methods  of  instruction  at  New  Castle 
Academy  during  Bird's  attendance  were  singularly 
crude  and  galling,  and  were  an  experience  he 
never  forgot.  In  later  years  he  frequently  spoke 
of  the  severity  of  this  early  schooling.  The  first 
aim  of  the  teacher,  it  seems,  was  to  break  the 
spirit  of  his  charges.  A  sympathetic  sharing  of 
interests  and  the  profit  that  comes  of  pleasure  were 
plainly  things  unknown.  The  result  was  a  stand 
ing  challenge  on  the  part  of  the  pedagogue,  and  a 

13 


14  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

series  of  organized  revolts  on  the  part  of  the 
school.  Though  shy  and  docile  to  a  degree,  and 
of  a  type  of  mind  that  would  have  drawn  nutri 
ment  from  the  plainest  fare,  young  Bird  came  in 
for  an  inordinate  share  of  "correction."  Hardly 
a  day  passed,  his  wife  asserts,  without  its  bitter 
tally  on  his  knuckles  or  his  back.  In  some  in 
stances,  it  seems,  this  punishment  amounted  to 
downright  assault.  The  effect  on  the  sensitive 
nature  of  Bird  was  a  feeling  of  abhorrence  so  deep 
that  one  day  he  took  an  oath,  on  bended  knee,  runs 
the  record,  "to  kill  his  pursuer  as  soon  as  he  was 
old  and  strong  enough  to  do  so. "  This  threat  he 
never  executed,  but  he  paid  the  score  as  unfor 
givably  by  conferring  on  the  bully  immortality. 
In  The  Adventures  of  Robin  Day  he  has  preserved 
M'Goggin  and  his  ways  with  suitable  embellish 
ments,  for  those  who  care  to  read.  The  account 
also  vividly  depicts  Bird's  first  school  days.  * '  The 
trustees  succeeded  in  engaging  the  services  of  a 
person  who,  I  verily  believe,  was  procured  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  testing  the  efficacy  of  the  brutum 
fulmen,  of  subjugating  us  by  main  force;  for  he 
was  an  illiterate,  vulgar  dolt,  an  Irishman  just 
caught,  who  professed,  as  he  said  himself,  to  teach 
nothing  but  Vading,  writin',  'rithmetic,  and 
dacent  manners';  although  in  other  respects  the 
very  man  the  trustees  wanted.  His  name  was 
M'Goggin.  He  was  six  feet  high,  and  limbed  and 
shouldered  like  a  Hercules;  and  indeed  of  such 
strength  and  activity,  that  had  he  been  set  at  the 


EDUCATION  15 

business  for  which  he  was  best  qualified,  that  is 
canal  digging,  I  have  no  doubt  he  would  have  cut 
through  the  Isthmus  of  Panama  in  a  month  with 
out  any  assistance.  He  had  an  ugly  look,  too, 
about  the  eyes,  which  besides  being  the  color  of  a 
cat's,  were  overshadowed  by  a  pair  of  brows  of  such 
bigness  and  appearance  that  they  looked  like  two 
stuffed  ratskins  stuck  on  with  glue;  and  his  com 
plexion  was  of  the  hue  of  sole-leather,  plentifully 
besprinkled  with  freckles  of  the  size  of  half -dimes. 
To  add  to  his  demerits,  he  was  entirely  incapable 
of  fear,  and  had  such  a  natural  love  of  a  row,  that, 
when  informed  by  the  trustees  of  our  character 
and  doings  ...  he  rubbed  his  hands  with 
satisfaction,  and  declared  we  were  'swate  little 
devils'  and  that  we  should  get  along  very  well 
together." 

This  stage  of  Bird's  career  abruptly  closed  one 
day  when  he  was  found  by  his  uncle,  Mr.  Van 
Dyke,  in  the  hands  of  his  sympathizing  cousin,  who 
was  dressing  a  bruised  and  lacerated  back.  He 
was  immediately  withdrawn  from  school  and  for 
a  time  allowed  to  read  and  ramble  as  he  liked.  He 
enjoyed  a  freedom,  it  seems,  that  our  disciplina 
rians  would  have  probably  called  neglect,  and  yet 
what  a  wise  neglect!  It  was  a  chance  to  grow 
spontaneously.  In  any  case,  for  a  boy  of  Bird's 
type,  aimless  play  is  often  the  richest  pre-expe- 
rience.  His  interests,  free  and  unconstrained,  are 
in  consequence  real  and  vital.  The  imagination 
expands  to  the  new  freedom,  and  self -education, 


1 6  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

which  for  the  gifted  is  the  best  education,  begins. 
Thus  it  was  with  Bird.  Blighting  as  the  effects 
of  the  Academy  were,  reading  had  become  a 
passion.  In  1812  the  New  Castle  Library  Com 
pany  was  chartered,  and  here  he  obtained  books 
of  history,  romance,  and  adventure,  reading  and 
re-reading  with  a  zest  that  must  have  made  them 
richly  nutritive.  Now,  too,  though  a  boy  of  but 
ten  or  twelve,  he  began  to  play  with  verse  and 
actually  finished,  according  to  his  wife,  a  long  poem 
which  he  hid,  but  which  the  tantalizing  Dorcas 
unearthed  and  read  with  a  flourish  to  the  Van 
Dyke  family.  The  experience,  though  it  stirred 
the  mirth  of  Dr.  Bird  years  after,  gave  pain  at  the 
time,  and  somewhat  dashed  his  ardor.  It  may 
possibly  have  contributed  to  a  distaste  to  be  known 
as  a  poet  that  lasted  throughout  his  life ;  for  these 
early  smarts  to  a  nature  so  acutely  sensitive 
were  sharp  and  long  remembered.  But  pleasur 
able  to  a  degree  he  never  forgot  were  his  rambles 
through  the  historic  scenes  of  the  Brandywine  and 
the  ruins  of  New  Amstel,  where  the  yellow  brick 
and  coins  of  Holland  were  still  occasionally  picked 
up.  Here  dwelt  a  double  charm — the  beauty  of  a 
smiling  country  rich  in  a  storied  past.  And  no 
doubt,  too,  these  frequent  jaunts  helped  to  give 
the  large-framed,  fair-haired  boy  that  stock  of 
bodily  health  which  brought  him  at  maturity  an 
astounding  capacity  for  incessant  toil. 

Meanwhile,   on   May   31,    1818,  the   Reverend 
Samuel  Barr  died  and  Bird's  mother  removed  to 


EDUCATION  17 

Philadelphia,  where  she  lived  with  an  older  son, 
James  Madison  Bird.  In  the  year  1820  Robert 
Montgomery  Bird  joined  them,  although  still 
under  the  guardianship  of  the  Honorable  Nicholas 
Van  Dyke,  as  the  following  letter  shows: 

NEW  CASTLE,  June  5,  1820. 

DEAR  NEPHEW: 

I  should  have  written  to  you  sooner  but  ex 
pected  to  go  to  Philadelphia  and  converse  with 
you  about  your  brother  R.  M.  Bird.  The 
situation  of  my  family  has  prevented  me  from 
leaving  home  and  at  present  I  see  no  prospect 
of  being  at  liberty  shortly. 

As  your  mother  urged  so  irresistibly  her  claim 
to  have  Montgomery  with  her,  it  has  been  yielded 
to  under  the  assurance  and  confidence  that  he 
will  be  under  your  particular  care  and  direction, 
and  if  on  any  account  you  discover  your  direc 
tions  are  not  attended  to  it  will  be  your  duty 
without  reserve  immediately  to  inform  me  that 
I  as  standing  in  the  place  of  his  parent  may  do 
what  my  judgment  and  regard  to  his  welfare 
may  require. 

It  is  essential  that  he  be  kept  constantly  at 
school  and  that  his  growing  habit  of  morning 
indulgence  be  at  once  corrected  that  he  may 
receive  the  benefit  of  his  school.  His  education 
was  at  first  calculated  for  a  profession  to  which  he 
always  expressed  an  inclination  until  I  fear  too 
much  indulgence  last  summer  suffered  his  exer 
tions  in  study  to  languish  and  his  ideas  changed 
and  I  was  pained  to  learn  from  his  mother  that 
he  could  not  pursue  a  profession,  but  would 
prefer,  some  other  business. 


1 8  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

The  intelligence  changed  entirely  my  course 
and  since  that  time  he  has  been  employed  at 
English  School.  But  his  attainments  I  find  are 
yet  far  below  my  wishes  even  for  the  mechanical 
business  and  I  therefore  direct  that  he  be  placed 
at  some  good  school  to  be  taught  again,  arith 
metic,  geography  and  some  branches  of  mathe 
matics  with  English  grammar  and  writing.  He 
should  also  be  occasionally  exercised  in  spelling 
as  every  scholar  should  be  an  adept  in  that  part 
of  education.  As  his  father  was  an  Episcopalian 
you  must  have  him  taught  the  church  catechism 
and  I  particularly  request  that  he  may  attend 
some  place  of  worship  on  the  Sabbath.  No  ex 
cuse  is  to  be  received  for  his  being  out  late  in 
the  evenings,  for  bad  company  which  is  the  bane 
of  youth  is  almost  entirely  formed  in  such  a 
habit.  Much  instruction  and  improvement  may 
be  derived  by  reading  in  the  evenings  and  I 
hope  his  taste  in  that  amusement  will  be  cul 
tivated.  As  I  am  not  authorized  to  indulge  in 
any  extravagance  as  to  dress,  I  request  that  the 
utmost  economy  be  consulted  in  furnishing  his 
supplies,  good  plain  clothes  being  all  that  boys 
require. 

In  giving  you  these  instructions  I  hope  for 
your  special  attention  to  the  interest  of  your 
brother  and  I  shall  be  much  gratified  if  you  can 
make  any  arrangement  for  assuming  the  duty 
which  is  now  imposed  on  your  uncle. 

Ns.  VAN  DYKE. 
To  MR.  JAMES  BIRD. 

This  letter  throws  an  interesting  light  on  the 
boy's  life  at  the  time.  He  was  apparently  living 
with  his  mother  and  a  twenty-three-year-old 


EDUCATION  19 

brother,  James  Madison  Bird,  but  was  still  under 
the  guardianship  of  Nicholas  Van  Dyke,  a  man, 
it  is  pretty  plain,  who  would  have  no  nonsense. 
It  seems,  too,  that  he  was  addressed  commonly  as 
Montgomery,  or  as  it  occurs  elsewhere, ' '  Monte ' ' 
Bird.  One's  sympathy  instinctively  goes  out  to 
the  lad  who  found  early  rising  a  bit  irksome. 
Hard  afternoons  at  cricket  and  a  growing  boy  of 
fourteen  are  circumstances  that  readily  account  for 
the  fact,  and  a  neglect  of  geography  and  spelling 
as  well.  He  was  to  be  kept  in  at  nights ;  dressed  in 
plain  clothes,  but  good;  and  confirmed  in  the 
church  of  his  father,  the  Episcopalian. 

In  Philadelphia  young  Bird  enrolled  in  a  school 
kept  by  a  Mr.  Pardon  Davis,  and  again,  it  seems, 
without  serious  intellectual  damage.  The  teach 
er's  name,  according  to  his  wife,  was  the  only  last 
ing  impression.  But  it  was  very  different  with  the 
drawing-school  he  attended  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Fourth  and  Chestnut  Streets,  under  the  manage 
ment  of  a  Mr.  Coxe.  Jemmy  Coxe,  as  he  was 
affectionately  known,  apparently  had  the  gift, 
priceless  to  a  teacher,  of  making  his  students  share 
his  enthusiasm.  He  had  a  sharp  eye  for  their  hid 
den  strength  and  idiosyncracies  and  encouraged 
them  to  develop  naturally  along  their  line  of 
talent.  A  genuine  lover  of  boys,  he  invited  them 
on  Saturday  afternoons  to  his  home,  regaled  them 
with  endless  yarns,  and  allowed  them  to  rummage 
his  cases  of  curios,  picked  up  from  land  and  sea. 
That  Montgomery  was  a  golden  child  he  quickly 


20  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

perceived  and  counted  him  a  favorite.  He  took 
him  on  sketching  tours  and  allowed  him  assign 
ments  beyond  his  strength  in  order  to  stir  his 
effort.  Under  this  instruction  Bird  gained  a 
facility  with  the  pencil  he  employed  throughout 
his  life.  A  number  of  plain  and  colored  sketches 
dating  from  this  time  are  extant  that  exhibit  to 
a  degree  accuracy,  boldness,  and  smoothness  of 
workmanship. 

Within  a  year,  however,  Bird  left  Philadelphia, 
returned  to  New  Castle,  and  again  enrolled  at  the 
Academy  with  the  aim  of  preparing  for  college. 
Of  his  progress  no  reports  remain,  but  two  old 
manuscripts  in  his  boyish  hand  richly  deserve 
mention.  One  of  them  is  a  composition  book, 
written,  from  the  allusions  it  contains,  while  he 
was  yet  living  in  New  Castle.  It  comprises  five 
short  themes  on  various  subjects — "Effects  of 
the  Late  Storm,"  "The  Bell  of  Justice,"  "The 
Life  of  My  Puss,"  "Anecdotes  of  the  Grecian 
Philosophers,"  "Anecdotes  of  the  Roman  Em 
perors.  ' '  There  is  an  Indian  story  in  six  parts  called 
"The  Whitewashed  Cottage  of  the  Susquehanna." 
Although  plainly  the  work  of  childhood,  there  is 
about  this  work  an  ease,  accuracy,  and  invention 
that  bespeak  the  natural  gift.  There  is  evidently 
an  inward  delight  in  the  thing,  and  a  directness  of 
phrase  that  is  inevitable.  The  other  manuscript  is 
a  "Rhetoric"  signed  "Robert  M.  Bird,  New  Castle, 
Del.  A.D.  1822, "  and  is  a  compendium  of  the  sub 
ject  abstracted  from  books  or  lectures.  Bird's 


EDUCATION  21 

schooling  in  the  use  of  language,  such  as  it  was,  was 
surely  not  without  its  value,  and  its  effects  may 
possibly  be  found  by  the  ingenious  in  the  effective 
descriptions  of  Calavar  and  The  Infidel.  But 
more  enrichment  must  have  come  from  the  pranks 
and  frolics  of  boyhood  and  his  frank  intercourse 
with  many  men  and  things.  In  the  play  of  a 
creatively  observant  mind  upon  men  in  action  lies 
the  writer's  chief  equipment.  Life  is  his  diction 
ary  and  grammar  as  well.  There  it  is  he  finds  his 
phrases — in  the  sports,  in  the  trades  and  crafts, 
in  the  arts  and  sciences,  in  the  work  yard,  and  the 
mill.  And  young  Bird,  who  was  so  keen  a  partici 
pant  in  the  life  about  him,  must  have  early  ab 
sorbed  an  abundance  of  such  nutriment. 

In  the  meanwhile  it  was  settled  that  Bird 
should  enter  a  profession;  which  one  was  still 
undetermined.  In  any  case  a  course  at  college 
was  imperative  and  to  prepare  he  moved  to  Ger 
man  town  in  1823  to  attend  the  German  town 
Academy.  In  1820  German  town  Academy  had 
entered  a  period  of  growth  up  to  that  date  un 
matched  in  its  history.  In  October  of  that  year 
John  M.  Brewer,  a  graduate  of  Harvard  in  the  class 
of  1804,  was  elected  principal  at  a  salary  of  twelve 
hundred  dollars  a  year.  In  return  for  this,  the 
largest  salary  the  Academy  had  yet  paid,  Brewer 
"engaged  to  take  upon  himself  the  moral  govern 
ment  of  the  pupils  as  well  in  the  hour  of  relaxation 
as  in  those  devoted  to  study. "  He  introduced  a 
system  of  rules  "based  upon  the  laws  which 


22  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

govern  Harvard  College  in  Cambridge, "  conspicu 
ous  among  which  were  the  stress  put  upon  a  study 
of  the  Scriptures,  Sunday  attendance  at  worship, 
and  the  public  examinations  and  exhibitions  held 
during  the  terms.  In  1820  there  were  thirteen 
students  in  the  upper  school  and  forty-two  in  the 
English  school.  In  1821  Brewer  was  succeeded  by 
Walter  R.  Johnson,  who  more  than  any  teacher 
Bird  had,  helped  to  shape  his  aims  and  character ; 
and  it  may  be  added,  became  a  lifelong  friend. 
Also  a  graduate  of  Harvard,  Johnson  had  taught 
school  at  Farmingham  and  Salem,  Massachusetts, 
before  coming  to  German  town,  where  he  became 
a  progressive  in  educational  reform.  He  led  the 
cause  of  higher  schools  in  Pennsylvania,  wrote 
numerous  articles  on  the  establishment  of  normal 
schools,  and  brought  about  in  large  part  the 
Pennsylvania  School  Law  of  1834.  He  was  later 
associated  with  Bird  on  the  faculty  of  the  Penn 
sylvania  Medical  College,  and  at  his  death  in  1852 
was  Chemist  of  the  Smithsonian  Institution.  * 

Walter  Johnson  was  just  the  teacher  for  a  boy- 
keen,  virile,  enthusiastic — and  under  his  direction 
Bird  made  swift  advancement.  Within  a  year  of 
entrance  he  was  given  the  following  certificate, 
written  by  Johnson  himself,  in  a  frank  hand  and 
old-fashioned  spelling : 

Academy  at  Germantown,  Aug.  12,  1824.     This 
certifies  that  Robert  Montgomery  Bird  of  New 

*A  History  of  the  Germantown  Academy,  Philadelphia,  1910, 
chapter  xi. 


EDUCATION  23 

Castle  in  the  State  of  Delaware  has  been  for 
one  year  under  my  instruction  as  a  student  in 
this  Academy  and  that  during  this  period  he  has 
attended  to  the  following  branches  of  study  viz : 
of  the  Latin  Classicks  Horace  and  Cicero  de 
Republica;  of  Greek  Classicks,  Graeca  Minora 
and  Homer's  Iliad;  Mathematics,  Euler's  Alge 
bra  and  Legendre's  Geometry;  Elements  of 
Logick ;  Stewarts  Philosophy  of  Mind ;  Elements 
of  Chemistry ;  English  Composition  in  prose  and 
verse  and  translations  into  Greek  and  Latin 
Languages.  His  general  deportment  has  been 
correct  and  exemplary,  his  habits  of  study  unex 
ceptionable  and  he  this  day  leaves  the  institu 
tion  with  a  distinguished  literary  rank  among  his 
fellow-students. 

WALTER  R.  JOHNSON,  Principal.1 

This  "distinguished  literary  rank"  Bird  de 
served  in  no  merely  academic  sense,  for  he  was 
already  placing  his  verse  in  local  periodicals.  A 
poem  is  said  to  have  been  written,  his  wife  states, 
"at  the  age  of  seventeen  and  Dr.  Black  has  seen 
verses  in  a  newspaper  when  he  was  about  twenty 
that  he  acknowledged  to  be  his.  By  comparison 
of  the  manuscript  with  letters  it  is  probable  some 
of  the  pieces  published  afterward  in  Snowderfs 
New  Monthly  Magazine  were  written  at  this  early 
date,  for  his  handwriting  was  very  inferior  to  what 
it  became  some  years  later  when  it  obtained  the 
character  that  distinguished  it. " 

1  See  the  Bird  Papers,  Library  of  the  University  of  Pennsyl 
vania. 


24  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

During  the  year  at  Germantown  Bird  had  settled 
the  matter  of  a  career  and  chosen  mgdicine. 
Accordingly,  in  August  of  1824,  he  removed  to 
Philadelphia  and  took  rooms  with  a  Mrs.  Allen, 
Number  62  South  Sixth  Street.  Here,  it  chanced, 
a  young  student  from  Kentucky  by  the  name  of 
Black  had  also  taken  quarters.  Of  like  profession 
and  tastes,  an  enriching  intimacy  formed  that 
lasted  throughout  their  lives.  Years  after,  in 
March  of  1854,  Dr.  Black  thus  described  to  Mrs. 
Bird  his  friend's  appearance  at  the  time.  "R. 
M.  Bird  was  then  eighteen.  His  appearance  was 
very  prepossessing.  He  was  tall,  slender,  very 
fair  and  youthful  looking,  and  had  a  Byronic  cast 
of  countenance.  He  had  written  a  good  deal  of 
poetry  and  some  verses  he  [Black]  saw  that  had 
been  published  a  year  before  without  his  name. " 
The  summer  of  1824  found  Bird  with  a  number  of 
other  young  students  in  the  office  of  Dr.  Joseph 
Parrish,  the  well-known  Quaker  physician  and 
friend  of  Whittier,  who  launched  on  their  career 
so  many  young  doctors  of  the  day.  He  also  en 
tered  a  druggist  shop  for  further  practical  drill. 
In  the  fall  of  1824  Bird  matriculated  in  the  Medical 
School  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania  and  at 
the  College  of  Pharmacy.  The  preservation  of  all 
his  course  cards  enables  us  to  track  him  through 
his  entire  course  under  Dr.  John  Redman  Coxe 
in  Materia  Medica,  Dr.  Philip  Syng  Physick  and 
Dean  Horner  in  Anatomy,  Dr.  Robert  Hare  in 
Chemistry,  Drs.  William  Gibson  and  George 


EDUCATION  25 

McClellan  in  Surgery,  Drs.  James  and  Dewees  in 
Midwifery,  and  Dr.  Chapman  in  Clinical  Practice. 
It  was  while  a  matriculate  at  the  University 
that  Bird  may  be  said  to  have  begun  his  career  of 
authorship.  Doing  most  easily  what  he  did  best, 
he  compassed,  in  addition  to  the  work  of  the  course, 
a  surprising  amount  of  reading  and  writing.  Two 
large  quarto  books  dated  1826  and  1827  attest  the 
range  and  thoroughness  of  his  reading.  In  them 
are  copious  quotations  and  summaries  from  the 
works  of  some  twenty-five  Latin,  English,  and 
American  writers.  A  striking  line  or  favorite 
verse  he  copied  off;  while  the  plays,  chiefly  Eliza 
bethan,  he  summarized  and  reviewed.  He  was 
very  frank  in  criticism  where  he  thought  criticism 
was  due.  The  Maid's  Tragedy,  of  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher,  for  instance,  he  thinks  "  ill-digested  and 
unsatisfactory.  The  characters  are  insufficiently 
developed;  the  incidents  made  little  of;  and 
the  sentiments  carelessly  and  tamely  expressed. 
Everything  wants  point ;  nothing  is  made  the  most 
of;  and  despite  the  commendations  of  the  editors, 
I  look  upon  this  play  as  highly  defective,  neglect 
fully  written,  and,  in  general,  inferior  to  most  of 
Massinger's  plays."  Philaster,  he  considers  "in 
many  respects  a  very  excellent  play."  Of  The 
Beggar's  Bush  he  says,  "This  is  a  busy  plot,  and 
well  managed — though  not  half  so  well  as  it  de 
serves.  There  are  few  striking  scenes,  a  poor, 
tame,  and  neglected  Dialogue.  There  is  something 
comical  in  the  beggar's  election,  and  the  speech  of 


26  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

their  orator,  Aiggen,  and  of  Bigg,  a  candidate,  who 
promises  to  be  a  tyrant  if  they  choose  him. "  And 
so  he  goes  on  with  twenty-four  other  Elizabethan 
plays.  Besides  this  reading  he  was  also  planning 
works  of  his  own.  In  the  earlier  book  of  1826! 
find  a  list  of  fifteen  subjects  for  short  poems,  of 
which  at  least  two,  Saul's  Last  Day  and  The  Death 
of  Meleager,  were  completed  by  1827  and  published 
in  November  and  December  of  that  year,  with 
other  of  his  verse,  in  The  Philadelphia  Monthly 
Magazine.  A  total  of  seven  poems  appeared  in  the 
same  periodical  within  three  months,  October, 
November,  and  December.  A  manuscript  tragedy 
in  five  acts,  entitled  The  Cowled  Lover,  is  dated 
June,  1827;  another,  Caridorf,  or  The  Avenger, 
August,  1827.  To  this  year  also  belongs  a  manu 
script  comedy,  with  its  scene  in  Philadelphia,  en 
titled  News  of  the  Night;  an  incomplete  domestic 
comedy,  'Twas  All  for  the  Best;  and  possibly  other 
fragments.  A  consideration  of  these  plays  will  be 
given  along  with  that  of  his  other  apprentice  work. 
Deserving  mention,  too,  are  Bird's  student 
friendships,  for  with  them  his  earlier  novels  have 
a  close  concern.  Through  Dr.  Black,  Bird  met 
another  young  Kentuckian  by  the  name  of  John 
Grimes,  who  was  an  enthusiastic  student  of  art. 
The  three  took  together  many  jaunts,  challenged 
each  other's  views,  and  shared  friendly  rivalries. 
On  one  of  these  walks  along  the  Wissahickon, 
according  to  Mrs.  Bird,  Dr.  Black  related  a 
Kentucky  story  the  power  of  which  greatly  struck 


EDUCATION  27 

Bird.  He  noted  it,  visited  the  scene  on  his  trips 
west,  and  later  used  it  as  the  basis  of  his  romance, 
Nick  of  the  Woods.  Twice  he  made  visits  to  the 
Delaware  Water  Gap,  the  second  time  in  June  of 
1827  with  Black  and  Grimes.  Here  they  camped, 
rambled,  and  sketched.  Among  the  friends  they 
made  was  a  young  artist  of  the  day  by  the  name  of 
Birch,  and  between  them  all  a  friendly  sketching 
bout  ensued.  This  region  and  these  episodes  he 
incorporated  in  his  novel,  The  Hawks  of  Hawk's 
Hollow. 

On  April  6,  1827,  the  Medical  School  of  the 
University  of  Pennsylvania  graduated  a  class  of 
131  in  Musical  Fund  Hall,  Philadelphia.  Among 
them  was  Robert  Montgomery  Bird  of  the  State 
of  Delaware,  who  wrote  for  a  thesis  a  treatise 
on  consumption  entitled  Phthisis  Pulmonalis.  A 
minute  study  of  its  contents  belongs  to  the  history 
of  medicine,  not  of  literature.  That  Bird  should 
have  shared  the  superstitions  of  his  time  is  to  be 
expected,  and,  in  this  respect,  he  is  neither  better 
nor  worse  than  his  age. 


CHAPTER   III 


APPRENTICESHIP   AND   FIRST   SUCCESS,       THE 

GLADIATOR" 


AFTER  graduation  Dr.  Bird  at  once  set  up  as  a 
practitioner  and  opened  an  office  on  Thirteenth 
Street  above  Pine,  Philadelphia.  In  those  days 
this  section  was  more  rural  and  open  than  now,  and 
from  his  office  he  could  see  directly  opposite  the 
Deaf  and  Dumb  Asylum  on  Broad  Street,  since 
made  a  school  of  Industrial  Art.  Dr.  Bird,  we  are 
told,  soon  won  a  practice  that  would  have  brought 
him  early  success,  but  from  the  first  the  physician's 
life  irked  him.  He  disliked  its  narrowed  interests. 
The  constant  sight  of  disease  and  pain  he  could  not 
always  aid,  rasped  his  sympathies.  Besides,  he 
had  convictions — absurd  he  at  times  acknowledged 
himself — on  the  subject  of  fees;  to  take  them,  he 
felt,  was  to  sell  his  humanity.  Accordingly  he 
kept  no  case-book,  refused  to  charge,  and  gave 
away  drugs.  But  more  urgent  than  all  was  his 
call  to  the  profession  of  letters,  which  had  already 
usurped  his  chief  ambitions.  In  consequence 
within  a  year  he  closed  his  office  and  relinquished 
the  practice  of  medicine,  which  he  never  resumed, 

28 


FIRST  SUCCESS,  "THE  GLADIATOR"    29 

although  he  became  in  later   life   a    prominent 
teacher  and  lecturer. J 

It  is  of  interest  to  review  the  prospects  of  a 
professional  litterateur,  and  of  the  professional 
dramatist  in  particular,  at  the  time  Bird  embraced 
the  career,  that  is,  about  1825.  Certainly  for  a 
young  man  of  twenty-two  without  large  private 
means,  the  step  meant  heavy  risks.  Letters  as  a 
profession,  it  is  to  be  remembered,  was  just  strug 
gling  into  existence,  hampered  on  the  one  hand  by 
inadequate  copyright  laws,  and  on  the  other  by  an 
apathy  on  the  part  of  the  public  generally  toward 
American  authorship.  It  is  well  known  how  the 
absence  of  international  copyright  worked  hard 
ship  on  writers  both  at  home  and  abroad.  Amer 
ican  books  were  pirated  in  England,  English  books 
in  America ;  and  were  sold  at  the  cheapest  possible 
rates  because  their  authors  had  not  been  paid. 
The  disadvantage  to  the  American  writer  was  the 
greater  because  of  the  prestige  of  English  author 
ship.  " When  American  readers,"  says  Brander 
Matthews,  "could  get  a  novel  of  Scott's  or  of 
Dickens 's  for  a  quarter  they  felt  less  inclined  to 
pay  a  dollar  for  a  novel  of  Cooper's  or  Hawthorne's. 
And  the  same  premium  of  cheapness  tended  to 
increase  the  sale  of  Tennyson  and  to  decrease  the 
sale  of  Longfellow  and  of  Poe.  The  British  author 
had  at  least  his  home  market,  whereas  the  Amer 
ican  author  found  his  home  market  pre-empted  by 

1  See  MS.  Life  of  Dr.  Bird  by  his  wife,  Bird  Papers,  Library  of 
University  of  Pennsylvania. 


30  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

the  foreigner."  In  consequence,  men  of  letters 
generally  were  forced  to  supplementary  means  of 
a  livelihood ;  Longfellow  and  Lowell  to  teaching, 
Emerson  to  lecturing,  and  Hawthorne  to  public 
service.  Besides,  American  authors  were  by  no 
means  received  at  home  as  they  deserved.  There 
was  a  servility  to  English  opinion  on  the  part  of 
the  critics  and  especially  of  the  cultivated  element 
that  read.  Among  the  latter  was  a  class  that 
judged  it  a  reflection  on  their  tastes  to  give  to 
native  productions  a  warm  approval.  The  foreign 
stamp  was  almost  the  only  means  of  giving  to  a 
book  a  more  than  merely  local  currency.  Emerson 
wrote  in  his  Journal,  June  18,  1834,  "We  lean  on 
England ;  scarce  a  verse,  a  page,  a  newspaper,  but 
is  writ  in  imitation  of  English  forms;  our  very 
manners  and  conversation  are  traditional,  and 
sometimes  the  life  seems  dying  out  of  all  literature, 
and  this  enormous  paper  currency  of  Words  is 
accepted  instead."  In  the  words  of  Professor 
Lounsbury,  we  had  become  "a  race  of  literary 
cowards  and  parasites. "  * 

For  the  playwright  these  obstacles  presented 
themselves  in  double  measure.  The  author  of  a 
romance  or  a  book  of  essays  had  at  home  at  least 
the  protection  and  the  satisfaction  of  the  printed 
volume.  His  name  was  on  the  title-page,  a  war 
rant,  in  a  way,  of  his  ownership.  But  the  drama 
tist  had  nothing  of  the  sort.  After  writing  his 
play,  he  confined  it  in  manuscript  to  a  single  actor 

1  Life  of  Cooper,  pp.  18-19. 


FIRST  SUCCESS,  "THE  GLADIATOR"    31 

or  manager,  who  "settled"  for  it  in  any  way  the 
parties  agreed.  In  Bird's  case  we  know,  and  in 
others  presumably,  these  agreements  were  most 
careless  and  unbusinesslike.  In  some  cases  copies 
were  made  from  stolen  and  mutilated  versions  of 
the  original,  and  given  by  other  companies  without 
either  the  consent  or  remuneration  of  the  author. x 
There  was  of  course  no  law  in  the  matter  to  define 
an  author's  or  actor's  rights  in  a  play.  And  yet, 
unsatisfactory  as  the  situation  was,  publication 
was  even  less  desirable.  Once  printed,  a  play 
passed  out  of  the  author's  control  entirely.  And 
there  was  nothing  to  prevent  any  who  saw  fit  from 
presenting  it  as  often  as  they  liked.  Joseph  S. 
Jones,  a  dramatist  of  the  time,  gives  as  one  of  his 
objections  to  the  publication  of  his  plays  "that  by 
publication  I  lost  my  ownership,  copyright  giving 
no  protection  against  representation  on  the  stage. ' ' 
Of  course  this  meant  that  most  of  the  profits  from 
the  drama  went  to  the  actors  and  managers,  since 
the  only  property  of  any  real  value  in  a  play  lay  in 
representation.  The  situation  was  made  still  worse 
by  the  circumstances  already  mentioned — the 
absence  of  international  copyright  and  a  deference 
to  foreign  art.  Even  more  than  fiction,  foreign 
drama  was  in  demand  by  the  public.  Furthermore, 
it  could  be  given  with  less  expense,  since  again 
there  was  no  author  to  pay.  William  Dunlap 
years  before  found  it  more  lucrative  and  not  less 
respectable  to  translate  or  adapt  foreign  plays 

1  See  J.  S.  Jones,  Moll  Pitcher,  Letter  from  the  Author. 


32  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

than  to  write  original  ones.  He  frankly  made  it 
his  business  to  provide  the  American  stage  with 
English,  French,  and  German  novelities.  Such 
then  were  some  of  the  outer  aspects  of  the  profes 
sion  Bird  was  now  about  to  enter. 

In  order  to  have  the  ease  and  comfort  of  home, 
he  rented  with  two  of  his  brothers,  John  and 
Thomas,  a  house  at  151  South  Tenth  Street, 
Philadelphia,  over  which  their  mother  was  asked  to 
preside.  Thomas  Jefferson  Bird  deserves  mention 
perhaps  for  his  own  sake  as  well  as  his  brother's. 
Born  five  years  before  Dr.  Bird,  he  early  went  to 
sea  as  a  seaman.  At  the  time  he  made  his  home 
with  his  brothers  he  was  commander  of  a  packet - 
ship  of  the  Walker  line,  plying  between  American 
ports  and  Liverpool.  His  skill  as  a  mariner  was 
proverbial.  There  was  a  common  saying  on  the 
lips  of  his  crew  that  he  managed  his  vessel  "with 
the  fear  of  the  Lord  and  a  broomstick,"  in  allusion 
to  his  piety,  order,  and  cleanliness.  To  him  in 
later  life  his  brother  turned  again  and  again  for 
succor  that  was  ever  most  kindly  given.  Thus 
settled,  then,  with  his  two  brothers  and  mother, 
Bird  began  a  course  of  the  severest  study.  He 
read  widely  and  critically  in  English,  French,  and 
Spanish  literature.  The  history  and  geography  of 
Spanish  America  were  objects  of  special  research, 
possibly  with  a  view  to  his  earlier  romances.  He 
made  numerous  maps  and  sketches  of  cities,  battle 
grounds,  costumes,  and  so  on.  A  large  notebook  of 
extracts  and  summaries  dated ' '  Feby .  1 828  "  attests 


FIRST  SUCCESS,  "THE  GLADIATOR"     33 

the  range  and  thoroughness  of  this  reading.  Ton- 
sard  's  A  merican  A  r  tiller  is  ts'  Companion,  Ramsay's 
South  Carolina,  Calef's  More  Wonders  of  the  In 
visible  World,  Josselyn's  New  England  Rarities  Dis 
covered  in  Birds,  Beasts,  etc.,  Marshall's  American 
Revolution,  are  a  few  typical  books  thus  abstracted. 
And  with  the  candor  of  youth  he  blocked  out  his 
career  on  a  grand  scale.  According  to  Henry  D. 
Bird,  Dr.  Bird  in  1828  sketched  a  plan  according  to 
which  he  was  to  begin  as  a  dramatist,  to  continue 
with  a  series  of  romances,  and  to  devote  his  later 
years  to  history.  Fifty-five  plays  besides  a  num 
ber  of  romances  and  stories,  were  projected.  Of 
course,  the  plan  is  of  no  deep  significance;  literature 
is  seldom  written  that  way.  It  is  simply  proof  of 
the  sweep  of  Bird's  early  ambition. 

While  a  medical  student,  we  noticed,  Bird  had 
been  busily  engaged  with  the  pen,  and  had  finished 
three  plays  and  much  verse,  of  which  seven  pieces 
were  published  in  The  Philadelphia  Monthly  Maga 
zine  from  October  to  December  of  1827.  To  this 
periodical  he  continued  to  send  work.  The 
January  number  contains  a  prose  tale  and  a  poem ; 
the  May  number  another  story;  while  between 
July  and  September  six  poems  appear.  By  July, 
1828,  he  had  completed  another  five-act  comedy, 
with  its  scene  in  Philadelphia,  entitled  The  City 
Looking  Glass.  In  a  prefatory  note  to  the  piece 
he  says,  "When  I  commenced  the  following  sheets 
it  was  my  intention  to  have  written  a  dissertation 
upon  rascals.  ...  I  soon  turned  my  eyes  to  the 


34  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

remaining  and  perhaps  the  greater  portion  of 
Society,  the  fools,  as  personages  remarkably  well 
suited  to  shine  as  inferior  and  episodic  characters 
in  my  dissertation."  At  the  time  he  was  also 
engaged  on  The  Volunteers.  On  July  14,  1828,  he 
wrote  to  his  brother  Henry,  "Yesterday  I  found 
myself  on  the  Brandywine  Battle  Ground.  It  was 
a  good  thing  for  me  to  be  there;  for  besides  de 
lighting  me  with  beautiful  scenery  it  renewed  in  me 
the  desire  to  go  on  with  The  Volunteers,  and  fur 
nished  me  with  many  hints  and  clues  for  my  story." 
Belonging  to  this  year  and  the  next  is  a  mass  of  un 
finished  plays  and  stories,  including  two  complete 
acts  of  a  tragedy  called  Giannone,  the  dramatis 
personae,  outlines  of  plots,  and  scraps  of  dialogue 
from  at  least  three  other  dramas — Isidora,  or  The 
Three  Dukes,  King  Philip,  or  The  Sagamore,  and 
The  Fanatick.  There  is  the  portion  of  a  story 
called  Men  of  Hills,  and  much  fragmentary  verse. 
Taken  as  a  whole,  this  apprentice  work  of  Bird's 
hardly  admits  of  a  difference  of  opinion.  It  is 
frankly  without  special  merit.  However,  as  the 
work  of  scarcely  more  than  an  undergraduate — all 
of  it  was  written  before  he  was  twenty-three — it 
is  very  far  from  unpromising.  The  verse  is  imi 
tative  of  course,  but  shows  grace,  variety,  and 
metrical  skill.  The  lines  are  simply  built;  occa 
sionally  they  rise  to  the  level  of  beauty.  For  the 
bulk  of  it  Bird's  most  enthusiastic  admirer  can 
hardly  claim  more.  Originality,  the  illumining 
phrase,  the  "great  accent,"  even  marked  beauty 


/ 


FIRST  SUCCESS,  "THE  GLADIATOR"    35 

it  does  not  have.  Its  best  can  be  easily  matched 
in  any  book  of  college  verse.  The  prose  tales  have 
little  more  intrinsic  worth  than  the  verse,  although 
more  characteristic  of  his  later  work.  In  The 
Spirit  of  the  Reeds  and  The  Ice-Island  there  is  a 
suggestion  of  the  facile  prose  and  realism  that  wins 
the  reader  of  Calavar  and  The  Infidel.  Realism 
it  is  rather  than  reality,  because  the  stories  of  Dr. 
Bird  much  more  concern  the  outer,  material  detail 
of  action  and  circumstance  than  the  inner  play  of 
motive  and  feeling  that  constitutes  so  true  a  part 
of  reality.  Of  this  early  work  it  is  the  dramas  that 
give  most  promise  of  what  was  to  come.  For  a 
youth  of  less  than  twenty-three  Caridorf,  'Tis 
All -for  the  Best,  The  Cowled  Lover,  and  The  City 
Looking  Glass  are  remarkable  productions.  They 
are  large,  substantial  plays  with  numerous  char 
acters  and  involved  plots,  that  knot  and  solve  with 
much  naturalness.  Even  more  successful  is 
the  spontaneous,  clever  dialogue.  The  occasional 
scraps  of  blank  verse  show  flexibility  and  ease. 
Of  course,  the  plays  are  full  of  echoes  and  not 
without  obvious  crudities.  The  dialogue  is  fre 
quently  too  long,  the  dramatic  foreshadowing  too 
marked,  the  action  unwieldy  and  halting.  But 
taken  as  a  whole,  the  work  is  a  worthy  promise  of 
the  greater  things  to  come. 

It  has  been  noted  that  the  majority  of  actors  and 
managers  of  that  day  frankly  found  it  to  their 
interests  to  produce  foreign  plays  that  were  cer 
tain  to  take  and  cost  nothing  rather  than  to  risk 


36  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

native  drama  the  authors  of  which  had  to  be  paid. 
There  was  one  notable  exception,  who  in  1828  gave 
to  native  playwrights  a  splendid  chance  to  win 
their  spurs.  Edwin  Forrest,  the  tragedian,  was 
then  twenty-two  years  of  age;  he  had  passed  a 
rough-and-tumble  apprenticeship  as  a  strolling 
player  through  the  South  and  West ;  but  had  al 
ready  made  a  reputation  and  considerable  money 
on  the  stage.  He  was  one  of  the  first  Americans  to 
perceive  and  regret  the  utter  lack  of  a  native  dra 
matic  literature,  a  lack  he  assigned  solely  to  a  want 
of  encouragement.  Unlike  other  managers  and 
actors  who  frankly  avoided  the  risk  of  producing 
American  plays,  Forrest  determined  to  encourage 
native  playwrights  and  thus  to  secure  original 
rdles  which  should  be  exclusively  his  own.  Pos 
sibly  it  is  true  also,  as  some  have  charged,  he 
wished  to  get  plays  cheaply.  In  any  case  he  be 
gan  to  offer  a  series  of  prizes  ranging  from  five 
hundred  dollars  to  three  thousand  dollars  as  an 
inducement  to  aspiring  dramatists.  The  first 
announcement  of  the  offer  he  sent  to  his  friend 
William  Leggett,  who  published  it  in  The  Critic 
of  November  22,  1828.  "To  the  author,"  it  ran, 
"of  the  best  tragedy  in  five  acts,  of  which  the  hero 
or  principal  character  shall  be  an  original  of  this 
country,  the  sum  of  five  hundred  dollars  and  half 
the  proceeds  of  the  third  representation,  with  my 
own  gratuitous  service  on  that  occasion.  The 
award  to  be  made  by  a  committee  of  literary  and 
theatrical  gentlemen."  The  committee  Forrest 


FIRST  SUCCESS,  "THE  GLADIATOR"     37 

picked  was  composed  of  William  Cullen  Bryant, 
Fitz- Greene  Halleck,  James  Lawson,  William  Leg- 
gett,  Prosper  M.  Wetmore,  and  J.  G.  Brooks.  The 
first  offer  brought  forth  fourteen  plays,  the  prize 
going  to  John  Augustus  Stone  of  Philadelphia 
for  Metamora,  or  The  Last  of  the  Wamponoags. 
Afterward  at  intervals  Forrest  offered  similar 
or  larger  premiums,  securing  in  all  about  two 
hundred  plays.  Of  these,  nine  drew  prizes, 
were  successfully  staged,  and  have  become  per 
manently  identified  with  the  history  of  American 
drama. 

Of  the  nine  prize  plays  thus  obtained  by  Forrest, 
Robert  Montgomery  Bird  wrote  four,  Pelopidas, 
The  Gladiator,  Oralloossa,  and  The  Broker  of 
Bogota.  Pelopidas,  or  The  Fall  of  the  Polemarchs, 
finished  in  the  fall  of  1 830,  is  a  blank  verse  tragedy 
in  five  acts  on  a  theme  from  Greek  history.  Pelo 
pidas,  the  famous  Theban  general,  with  a  band 
of  fellow-conspirators  enters  Thebes  at  nightfall, 
where  the  ruling  magistrates  who  had  betrayed 
their  city  to  the  Spartans  are  banqueting.  He 
surprises  them,  slays  with  his  own  hand  Leonidas, 
their  leader,  and  thus  brings  again  democracy 
to  Thebes.  Forrest's  acceptance  of  Pelopidas  is 
in  a  way  a  proof  of  its  worth.  At  the  same  time 
the  changes  he  jotted  down  and  sent  to  Bird  make 
an  excellent  critique  of  the  play.  There  ought  to 
be,  he  thought,  "a  little  more  incident,"  more 
"bustling,"  "more  action"  in  the  first  three 
acts.  The  speeches  of  Philadas  and  Archias, 


38  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

Forrest  judged  "too  long,"  and  of  Philip  "much 
too  long."  Act  III.,  he  went  on,  required  "a 
better  climax,"  for  "there  is  yet  no  action"; 
Acts  IV.  and  V.  are  to  "remain  as  they  are." 
Finally,  Forrest  suggested  that  ' '  Pelopidas  should 
end  it  quickly";  otherwise,  he  fears,  "'twill  be 
dull." 

Though  accepted  by  Forrest  and  counted  by 
Bird  himself  his  best  play,  Pelopidas  was  never 
staged,  since  before  its  production  Bird  had  finished 
another  prize  play  that  apparently  better  suited 
Forrest's  purposes.  How  to  name  the  new  piece 
puzzled  him.  In  a  letter  dated  December  31, 
1830,  his  brother  Henry,  whom  he  presumably 
consulted,  advises  him  to  * '  stick  to  The  Gladiator. 
It  is  not  only  a  captivating  but  popular  name,  and 
a  character  altogether  more  suited  to  Forrest's 
Roman  figure  and  actions."  The  play  was  com 
pleted  by  April,  1831 ,  and  accepted  at  once  accord 
ing  to  the  following  letter : 

MY  DEAR  SIR  : 

The  MS  of  The  Gladiator  came  duly  to  hand 
with  your  letter  of  ist  instant.  I  think  there 
can  be  no  reasonable  objections  against  produc 
ing  your  play  in  June,  say,  about  the  2Oth  if 
you  think  otherwise  I  will  be  control'd  entirely 
by  your  directions  and  order  a  postponement 
of  the  same  until  the  fall  season.  In  my  mind 
The  Gladiator  must  prove  victorious  winter  or 
summer  to  be  sure  he  would  not  "groan  and 
sweat"  so  much  in  cooler  weather,  but  that  will 
be  his  task  not  yours. 


FIRST  SUCCESS,  "THE  GLADIATOR"    39 

I  shall  be  in  Philada.  about  the  close  of  next 
week  when  we  may  discourse  fully  upon  this 
subject. 

Caius  Marius  on  Monday 
Evening  next.  Yours  sincerely, 

EDWIN  FORREST. 
N.  York,  6th  May,  1831 
ROBERT  M.  BIRD,  ESQ., 
New  Castle,  Delaware. 

The  Gladiator  was  thus  the  occasion  of  Dr.  Bird's 
introduction  to  Edwin  Forrest.  They  met,  we 
are  told,  in  the  office  of  Dr.  Black,  who  with  Dr. 
George  McClellan,  the  well-known  physician,  and 
father  of  one  of  New  Jersey's  governors,  conducted 
the  negotiations.  The  details  of  the  agreement 
are  stated  fully  elsewhere.  Suffice  it  to  say  in 
passing  that  for  this  play,  which  Forrest  gave 
upwards  of  a  thousand  times  during  the  author's 
life  and  made  a  fortune  from,  Dr.  Bird  received 
a  single  payment  of  one  thousand  dollars. x 

The  Gladiator  was  first  performed  on  September 
26,  1831,  at  the  Park  Theater,  New  York.  The 
principal  parts  of  Phasarius  and  Senona  were 
taken  respectively  by  Mr.  Barry  and  Mrs.  Sharpe, 
Forrest  himself  acting  Spartacus,  the  hero.  In  a 
personal  diary  of  remarkable  interest  entitled 
Secret  Records,  Bird  has  left  an  account  of  this 
performance. 

1  George  H.  Boker,  the  dramatist,  once  said,  "If  Dr.  Bird  had 
managed  rightly  about  The  Gladiator,  he  would  have  died  a  rich 
man."  Historical  and  Biographical  Encyclopedia  of  Delaware, 
P- 317. 


40  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

Sept.  26th  at  the  Park  Theatre,  New  York, 
The  Gladiator  was  performed  for  the  first  time. 
That  evening  there  fell  such  torrents  of  rain  as 
had  not  visited  New  York  for  15  or  20  years. 
Nevertheless,  the  house  was  crammed,  the 
amount  being  about  1400  dols.  The  Park 
Company  is  the  most  wretched  in  the  country. 
.  .  .  There  never  was  a  play  more  miserably 
got  up,  old  dresses,  old  scenes,  many  of  them  full 
of  absurdities  and  to  crown  all,  the  performers 
with  but  two  exceptions  were  horribly  imperfect. 
If  there  had  been  a  wish  among  the  managers  to 
have  the  play  damned  they  could  not  have  taken 
a  better  course.  .  .  .  Next  morning  Mr. 
Webbe,  of  the  Courier  and  Inquirer,  made  a 
savage  attack  upon  the  piece,  saying  it  was 
damned.  ...  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Webbe  under 
stands  the  meaning  of  the  phrase  "to  thrust 
an  iron  into  one's  soul."  .  .  The  Gladiator 
was  enacted  4  times  in  New  York  to  good  houses ; 
and  was  more  and  more  applauded  every  suc 
cessive  night. 

The  play  first  appeared  in  Philadelphia  at  the  Arch 
Street  Theater,  October  24th  of  the  same  year, 
with  Mr.  Forrest  and  Mr.  J.  R.  Scott  in  the  roles 
of  Spartacus  and  Phasarius.  Under  that  date  in 
the  Secret  Records  is  the  following  entry : 

Oct.  24th  was  its  first  night  in  Philadelphia. 
The  jam  of  visitors  was  tremendous;  hundreds 
retiring  without  being  able  to  get  seats  or  stands. 
An  American  feeling  was  beginning  to  show  itself 
in  the  theatrical  matters.  The  managers  of  the 
Arch  St.  Theatre  were  Americans,  all  the  chief 
performers  were  Americans  and  the  play  was 


FIRST  SUCCESS,  "THE  GLADIATOR"     41 

written  by  an  American.  The  play  was  very 
well  got  up.  ...  It  was  played  with  a  roar 
of  applause  andbravoed  to  the  echo,  all  which  was 
comfortable  enough.  Played  4  times  in  full 
houses.  Forrest  is  undoubtedly  the  best  man 
for  Spartacus  in  Christendom;  in  which  his 
figure  and  physique  show  to  the  best  advantage 
and  his  voice  and  muscle  hold  out  to  the  last. 
.  .  .  Scott  is  a  most  excellent  Phasarius, 
and  makes  amends,  for  not  always  being  perfect 
to  a  letter  in  the  text,  by  going  to  the  business 
with  a  will,  which  tells  as  favorably  for  himself 
as  for  the  author. 

Of  its  performances  at  Boston,  the  Secret  Records 
say: 

Dec.  14  (1831).  The  Gladiator  has  been  per 
formed  at  Boston  and  with  good  success.  I 
have  been  disappointed  in  not  finding  any  very 
lengthy  or  judgmatical  reviews,  particularly 
as  the  Boston  critics  have  a  pretty  good  opinion 
of  their  own  abilities. 

Such  are  Dr.  Bird's  unpretending  accounts  of  his 
first  success  as  a  playwright.  But  the  critics  were 
unanimous  in  enthusiastic  praise.  The  New  York 
Evening  Post  said :  ' '  The  new  tragedy  of  The  Gladi 
ator  was  last  evening  performed  at  the  Park 
Theater,  in  this  city  for  the  first  time,  to  a  very 
crowded  house.  The  term  'overflowing'  applied 
to  the  audience  could  scarcely  be  considered  meta 
phorical;  for  so  over  full  was  the  pit  that  a  number 
of  persons  were  literally  forced  upon  the  stage  by 
the  pressure  of  the  throng.  The  play  was  listened 


42  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

to  throughout  with  great  attention  and  interest, 
and  on  the  falling  of  the  curtain,  the  decision  of  the 
audience  in  respect  to  it  was  unequivocally  spoken 
in  long  continued  and  thundering  peals  of  applause. 
It  is  scarcely  possible  for  a  drama  to  meet  with 
more  decided  approbation  than  was  bestowed  on 
The  Gladiator.  A  more  attentive,  and  apparently 
a  more  engaged  audience,  we  never  saw.  Through 
out  the  course  of  the  whole  entertainment,  not  a 
single  sign  of  disapproval  was  given ;  and  frequently 
applause,  bursting  out  involuntarily  from  a  part 
of  the  audience,  to  the  interruption  of  the  action 
of  the  piece,  or  the  passion  of  the  speaker,  was 
immediately  checked  and  subdued  by  the  rest,  so 
that  no  line  might  be  lost,  or  the  effect  of  no  in 
cident  impaired.  ...  At  the  conclusion  of  the 
piece,  the  whole  last  speech  of  Spartacus  was 
utterly  inaudible  by  reason  of  the  clamorous  ap 
plause  and  when  the  curtain  fell,  the  theater  was 
literally  shaken  with  the  energetic  demonstrations 
of  pleasure  given  by  the  spectators."  The  New 
York  Standard  said  of  it :  "To  us  it  was  a  treat  of  no 
ordinary  interest ;  we  felt — and  enjoyed  the  feeling 
with  pride  and  satisfaction — that  The  Gladiator  was 
creditable  to  the  genius,  to  the  taste,  and  to  the 
literary  enterprise  of  the  American  people;  and  we 
feel  no  hesitation  in  putting  it  down  as  the  best 
native  tragedy  extant. "  The  New  England  Galaxy 
of  Boston  said  in  its  issue  of  November  19,  1831 : 
' '  During  the  past  week  we  have  been  favored  by 
Mr.  Forrest  with  the  greatest  novelty  that  could 


FIRST  SUCCESS,  "THE  GLADIATOR"    43 

be  presented  to  an  American  audience— a  genuine 
tragedy  of  native  birth.  We  shall  at  once  be 
understood  as  referring  to  the  new  prize  piece, 
The  Gladiator,  written  by  Dr.  Bird  of  Philadelphia. 
It  is  with  a  feeling  of  honest  pride  that  we  refer 
to  this  production ;  for  after  the  numerous  shock 
ing  abortions  to  which  our  playwrights  have 
within  a  year  or  two  called  the  public  attention, 
we  cannot  but  hail  with  peculiar  satisfaction  the 
appearance  of  a  regular,  well-constructed,  well- 
written,  five-act  play,  which  is  fairly  entitled  to 
notice  in  the  dramatic  annals  of  the  day,  and  forms 
an  era  in  the  literature  of  our  country."  The 
Boston  Evening  Transcript  commented  on  its  lan 
guage  :  '  *  It  is  replete  with  beautiful  passages  and 
noble  sentiments.  The  language  is  pure,  and  often 
highly  poetical  if  we  may  trust  our  ear,  and  the  few 
excerpts  made  by  our  contemporaries  of  New 
York  and  Philadelphia,  from  the  manuscript,  the 
tragedy  not  being  in  print."  Of  course  the 
Philadelphia  papers  were  proud  to  own  their 
dramatist.  ''The  author  has  shown,"  ran  The 
United  States  Gazette,  "not  only  a  knowledge  of 
effect,  but  a  keen  perception  of  the  emotions  of  the 
human  heart,  and  poetic  talent  of  a  very  superior 
grade,  in  working  up  the  piece  from  the  slender 
materials  furnished  by  history.  He  has  entered 
with  facility  into  a  Roman  expression,  which  never 
deserts  him  throughout.  We  are  not  disgusted  by 
detecting  the  modern  masquerading  in  an  ancient 
garb.  This  beauty,  with  the  pure  classicality  of 


44  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

the  imagery,  renders  the  piece  as  attractive  to  the 
scholar,  considered  as  a  literary  production,  as 
the  vividness  and  intensity  of  interest  delight  the 
general  audience."  While  Charles  Durang  re 
lates  of  the  first  Philadelphia  performance:  ''The 
entire  male  portion  of  the  audience  rose  to  its  feet 
and  gave  at  least  nine  cheers.  I  never  saw  in  my 
experience  any  theatrical  applause  so  wildly  and 
impulsively  given;  and  so  it  went  through  the 
land."1 

The  Gladiator  is  a  blank- verse  tragedy  in  five  acts 
on  a  classic  theme.  The  play  opens  on  a  street  in 
Rome  where  some  gladiators,  Phasarius  among 
them,  observe  the  city's  desertion.  Her  generals 
are  off  to  war ;  her  populace  is  idle ;  while  they  must 
amuse  it  by  shedding  each  other's  blood.  Phasa 
rius  outspokenly  resents  his  bondage,  and  darkly 
hints  at  revolt.  But  he  is  silenced  by  the  appear 
ance  of  Bracchius,  his  master,  who  tells  of  a 
Thracian  athlete,  "most  desperate  and  uncon 
querable,"  against  whom  he  is  to  be  pitted. 
Bracchius  fires  the  blood  of  Phasarius  with  glowing 
accounts  of  his  rival,  and  sends  him  to  his  exercise 
in  a  fighting  mood.  Meanwhile,  Lentulus  arrives 
with  his  Capuan  gladiators  and  his  famous  Thra 
cian,  Spartacus.  Spartacus  had  been  a  shepherd 
when  through  the  treachery  of  a  companion  in  the 
Roman  wars  he  was  captured,  sent  to  Capua,  and 
sold.  Now  brought  to  Rome  in  chains,  he  sulks, 

1  Durang,  C.,  History  of  the  Philadelphia  Stage,  III.  ser.,  chapter 
xvi. 


FIRST  SUCCESS,  "THE  GLADIATOR"     45 

refuses  to  take  the  oath  to  fight,  pines  for  his  wife 
and  boy,  and  for  his  Thracian  cottage.  When  to 
his  joyous  astonishment  he  spies  them,  whom  he 
thought  dead,  among  others  that  Bracchius  has 
brought,  the  cloud  goes  off  his  soul,  and  he  takes 
the  oath  to  fight  if  they  be  restored  to  him.  So 
Lentulus  buys  of  Bracchius  Senona  and  her  boy. 
Soon  after  a  magnificent  spectacle  is  arranged  in 
which  two  hundred  pairs  of  athletes  are  to  fight ; 
and  after  them,  the  survivors  in  general  combat. 
But  during  his  days  of  practice  Spartacus  has 
sown  the  seeds  of  revolt  among  the  gladiators,  who 
are  primed  to  respond  at  his  beck.  The  day  of  the 
games  arrives;  the  amphitheater  is  thronged  with 
the  wealth  and  beauty  of  Rome;  and  over  all 
Crassus,  the  prastor,  presides.  But  Spartacus 
again  sulks,  refuses  to  fight  two  antagonists  sent 
against  him,  but  a  third  he  crushes  to  death.  At 
last  Phasarius  confronts  him.  For  a  moment  the 
brothers  stare  in  amazement  as  they  recognize 
after  years  of  separation,  and  throwing  down  their 
arms,  defiantly  refuse  to  fight.  When  the  Roman 
cohorts  are  sent  in,  the  gladiators  rise  in  a  body, 
attack  the  throng,  and  cut  their  way  to  freedom. 
To  capture  the  insurgents  Crassus  puts  in  the  field 
six  legions,  but  Spartacus  has  mobilized  his  forces 
and  planned  a  set  attack.  After  Crixus  with  his 
Germans  deserts  him  and  is  cut  to  pieces  by  the 
Romans,  Spartacus  sets  upon  the  Consular  army, 
routs  it,  and  captures  Julia,  niece  of  Crassus. 
Spartacus  now  shows  a  finer  side  of  his  nature  by 


46  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

a  chivalrous  refusal  to  allow  Julia  to  become  the 
mistress  of  Phasarius,  who  in  a  huff  also  goes  his 
own  way,  and  returns,  alone  of  his  army,  a  repent 
ant  man.  Finally  Spartacus  is  -played  false  by 
pirates  whose  ships  he  has  hired  for  flight,  and, 
learning  that  Senona  has  been  killed, makes  his  way 
to  the  praetorium  where  he  dies  fighting  desperately 
to  slay  Crassus. 

A  number  of  reasons  combined  to  make  The 
Gladiator  effective,  first  of  all  the  character  of  its 
hero.  A  finer  type  of  elemental  man  than  Spar 
tacus  hardly  exists  in  literature,  a  perfect  union 
of  the  primitive  virtues,  physical  prowess,  great 
courage,  strong  passions,  and  withal  a  heart  of 
kindness.  It  is  this  range  of  qualities  in  the  man 
that  strikes  one  as  he  reads.  Capacity  for  fury 
and  brute  strength  we  of  course  expect  in  gladia 
tors,  but  in  Spartacus  there  is  vastly  more.  His 
qualities  of  leadership  are  early  shown  by  the  re 
gard  he  inspires  and  holds  in  Anomaiis,  Phasarius, 
and  his  men;  by  the  reserve  and  balance  of  his 
judgment.  His  nature  is  also  humane  and  chival 
rous.  His  relations  with  Senona  are  ideal;  while 
the  captive  Julia  finds  him  her  staunchest  protec 
tor.  And  like  most  men  of  action  he  has  the  power 
of  uttering  great  things.  "What  is  your  name?" 
asks  the  haughty  Bracchius.  ' '  Misery ! "  he  sadly 
replies  and  later  in  the  play  observes, 

Nature 
Makes  fewer  rogues  than  misery. 


FIRST  SUCCESS,  "THE  GLADIATOR"     47 

In  addition  to  the  splendor  of  the  character  was 
Forrest's  perfect  fit  in  the  part.  It  was  essentially 
melodramatic,  and  required  voice,  passion,  and 
strength  rather  than  finesse  or  subtlety.  Forrest 
was  a  perfect  embodiment  of  Spartacus;  in  con 
sequence  his  acting  was  swift,  sure,  and  instinctive. 
Of  course  it  is  true,  as  the  English  reviewers 
pointed  out,  that  in  the  prominence  of  this  one 
part  lay  a  defect.  It  was  so  central  and  dominant 
that  it  draws  the  strength  from  the  others,  who 
seem  but  faintly  sketched.  Scenes  where  Sparta 
cus  is  absent  are  inclined  to  flag  in  interest. 

Again,  the  literary  quality  of  The  Gladiator 
struck  critics  and  spectators  alike.  The  blank 
verse  is  uniformly  easy,  pleasing,  and  effective. 
Bird  clearly  proved  his  control  of  it  as  a  medium  of 
dramatic  dialogue.  Quotation  at  length  would  be 
tedious,  but  one  passage  that  drew  attention  from 
both  English  and  American  critics  and  is  also 
typical  will  serve  as  an  illustration.  Spartacus 
describes  to  Jovius,  the  Roman  centurion,  the 
desolation  wrought  by  Roman  arms  upon  the 
Thracian  valleys.  He  has  spoken  of  the  ' '  ridgy- top 
of  Haemus ' '  and  continues : 

In  my  green  youth  I  looked 
From  the  same  frosty  peak  where  now  I  stood, 
And  then  beheld  the  glory  of  those  lands 
Where  peace  was  tinkling  on  the  shepherd's  bell 
And  singing  with  the  reapers. 
Since  that  glad  day,  Rome's  conquerors  had  past 
With  withering  armies  there  and  all  was  changed : 


48  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

Peace  had  departed;  howling  war  was  there, 

Cheered  on  by  Roman  hunters :  Then,  methought, 

Even  as  I  looked  upon  the  altered  scene, 

Groans  echoed  through  the  valleys,  through  which  ran 

Rivers  of  blood,  like  smoking  Phlegethons; 

Fires  flashed  from  burning  villages,  and  famine 

Shrieked  in  the  empty  cornfields.  * 

Perhaps  the  chief  factor  in  the  triumph  of  the 
play  was  the  energy  and  splendor  of  certain  of  its 
scenes.  The  meeting  of  Spartacus  and  Senona; 
the  return  and  death  of  Phasarius ;  the  frenzy  of 
Spartacus  at  the  news  of  Senona's  end,  when  he 
finds  himself  a  hunted  fugitive  "  alone  upon  the 
flinty  earth";  his  death  struggle  for  freedom,  are 
some  of  the  situations  that  shot  thrills  through 
beholders.  In  the  great  scene  where  brother 
pitted  against  brother  recognize  each  other  after 
long  separation,  throw  down  their  arms,  and 
tenderly  embrace,  defiantly  refusing  to  fight,  the 
applause  would  burst  into  riot  and  interrupt  the 
action.  Here  Forrest  as  Spartacus  stood  stripped 
to  the  waist,  his  great  muscles  flexed  and  bulging, 
his  veins  swollen,  his  jaws  and  neck  rigid,  his  breath 
obstructed,  while  he  calms  his  brother  with  a 
challenge  to  the  throngs : 

Let  them  come  in;  we  are  armed. 

And  in  the  lines  "We  will  make  Rome  howl  for 
this, "  such  were  the  clang-tints  and  the  power  of 

1  Act  IV.,  Scene  3. 


FIRST  SUCCESS,  "THE  GLADIATOR"    49 

Forrest's  intonation  of  "howl"  that  it  became  a 
catch  phrase  with  boys  in  the  street.  Here  the 
Spartacus  of  Forrest  was  "the  perfection  of 
physical  realism."  Everywhere  the  play  was 
given,  and  it  went  throughout  the  land,  it  won  the 
same  delighted,  impulsive  applause.  From  the 
hour  of  its  first  appearance  the  name  of  Robert 
Montgomery  Bird  had  a  fixed  place  in  the  annals 
of  the  American  stage. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS 

THE  acceptance  of  two  plays  by  a  leading  actor 
of  the  day  would  supposedly  satisfy  a  young  man 
of  twenty-five  that  he  had  found  his  bent.  Most 
authors  have  begun  their  careers  under  far  less 
promising  circumstances.  But  it  was  not  so  with 
Bird.  In  the  Secret  Records  under  date  of  August 
27,  1831,  he  again  wears  his  heart  on  his  sleeve  and 
naively  calculates  his  chances.  He  quotes  from 
Suetonius,  Vita  C&sarum  and  with  amiable  candor 
compares  his  own  youth  to  that  of  ' '  the  mightiest 
Julius"  in  its  fruitlessness  and  waste.  Twenty- 
five  years  he  has  lived  in  the  world  and  done 
nothing — "nothing  but  hope."  Ambitious  as  he 
was,  his  companions  swiftly  push  by  him  to  posi 
tions  of  responsibility  and  usefulness.  There  is  a 
great  step  between  the  boy  of  promise  and  the 
man  of  achievement.  "I  envy  no  boy  his  pre 
cocity,"  he  goes  on,  "but  a  man's  is  another 
matter.  Congreve  began  at  nineteen  and  wrote 
his  last  play  at  twenty-five.  Sheridan  produced 
The  Rivals  at  twenty-two,  and  at  twenty-five  had 
written  The  School  for  Scandal;  at  twenty-two 

50 


FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS      51 

Campbell  had  published  The  Pleasures  of  Hope; 
and  at  twenty-four  Byron  had  become  as  immortal 
as  Childe  Harold.  Glorious  instances  these  and 
very  ridiculous  for  me  to  talk  about  them."  The 
Gladiator,  of  course,  had  not  yet  appeared,  and  its 
fate  was  naturally  a  matter  of  concern.  "I  wrote 
The  Gladiator  just  on  the  eve  of  my  twenty-fifth 
year;  but  can  have  no  satisfaction  in  noting  its 
birth  till  I  can  form  some  augury  of  the  length  of 
its  life.  To  be  sure,  folks  talk  as  agreeably  as  they 
can,  particularly  those  who  know  the  least  about 
it.  ...  I  am  disposed  to  be  sanguine  enough ;  that 
is  my  temperament.  But  I  have  just  been  staring 
hard  at  the  world,  and  the  view  chills  my  anticipa 
tions."  He  then  recounts  the  career  of  a  friend, 
liberally  educated  for  a  profession,  who  similarly 
quit  it  to  pursue  literature  and  pitiably  wrecked 
his  life.  But  there  were  sounder  grounds  for  mis 
giving.  "Our  theaters  are  in  a  lamentable  condi 
tion  and  not  at  all  fashionable.  To  write  for  and 
be  admired  by  the  groundlings!  villains  that  will 
clap  when  you  are  most  nonsensical  and  applaud 
you  most  heartily  when  you  are  most  vulgar;  that 
will  call  you  'A  genius,  by  G — '  when  you  can 
make  the  judicious  grieve  and  'a  witty  devil' 
when  you  force  a  woman  to  blush."  Furthermore, 
the  freedom  of  an  American  author  was  greatly 
narrowed.  Were  The  Gladiator  to  be  produced  in 
a  slave  State,  Bird  thinks,  the  managers,  actors, 
and  author  as  well  would  probably  be  rewarded 
with  the  penitentiary.  Finally,  the  requirements 


52  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

for  a  successful  dramatist  might  well  make  a  be 
ginner  pause  and  shiver.  'r<What  a  fool  I  was 
to  think  of  writing  plays!  To  be  sure,  they  are 
much  wanted.  But  then  novels  are  much  easier 
sorts  of  things  and  immortalize  one's  pocket  much 
sooner.  A  tragedy  takes  or  should  take  as  much 
labor  as  two  romances ;  and  one  comedy  as  much  as 
six  tragedies."  He  then  considers  some  of  those 
requirements — invention,  poetic  fancy,  common 
sense.  ' '  The  sanguine  and  fiery  ardor  of  an  Orien 
tal,  "  "the  phlegmatic  judgment  of  a  German," 
infinite  capacity  for  feeling,  a  thorough  knowledge 
of  human  nature.  ' '  He  should  in  short  be  at  once 
a  poet,  orator,  wit,  and  philosopher,"  and  able  to 
carry  on  two  operations  in  his  mind  simultaneously, 
"to  create  and  to  fancy  his  creations  acting." 

In  March,  1832,  Dr.  Bird  removed  with  his 
mother  and  a  trusted  servant  to  No.  140  North 
Twelfth  Street,  Philadelphia,  his  brothers  being 
obliged  by  business  to  leave  the  city.  At  the  time, 
it  seems,  he  was  head  and  ears  in  literary  projects. 
His  notebooks  are  crowded  with  titles  and  plans 
for  stories,  articles,  and  plays,  and  with  abstracts 
from  a  widely  miscellaneous  course  of  reading. 
His  personal  accounts  for  the  year  1831  show  that 
he  purchased  during  the  month  of  December 
Tanner's  Narrative,  Moore's  Byron,  Fox's  Book  of 
Martyrs,  Byron's  Poems,  Duane's  Columbia, 
Prior's  Voyages,  Sphix's  Brazil,  South  American 
Travels,  Long's  Expedition  to  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
Watson's  Annals  of  Philadelphia.  During  March 


FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS      53 

of  1832  he  bought  Bryant's  Poems,  a  Dictionary 
of  Biography,  Gordon's  Pennsylvania,  The  Voy 
ages  of  Columbus.  In  February  of  1832,  he  had 
finished  another  blank  verse  tragedy  entitled 
Oralloossa,  Son  of  the  Incas.  It  was  submitted  to 
Forrest  and  at  once  accepted,  Bird's  third  play  to 
take  a  prize.  The  theme  of  the  play  he  took  from 
the  history  of  Peru  during  the  first  half  of  the  six 
teenth  century  in  the  days  of  Pizarro.  The  con 
spiracy  led  by  Pizarro 's  nephew,  his  assassination 
of  Pizarro  at  Lima,  and  the  suppression  of  the 
rebellion  that  ensued  form  the  historic  groundwork 
of  the  tragedy.  The  only  fictitious  part,  Bird 
states,  consists  in  the  introduction  of  "the  imagin 
ary  character  of  Oralloossa,  a  son  of  Atahualpa,  and 
of  making  him  the  center  of  action  and  interest." 
Two  objects,  he  further  states,  he  had  in  view, 
"first,  the  portraiture  of  a  barbarian  in  which  is 
concentered  all  those  qualities  both  of  good  and 
evil  which  are  most  strikingly  characteristic  of 
savage  life;  the  second,  to  show  how  the  noblest 
designs  of  a  great  man  and  the  brightest  destinies 
of  a  nation  could  be  interrupted  and  destroyed  by 
the  unprincipled  ambition  of  a  single  individual."- 
It  is  worthy  mention,  though  not  a  surprise,  that 
Bird's  least  successful  play  had  its  root  in  a  moral 
purpose. 

Oralloossa  was  first  staged  October  10,  1832,  at 
the  Arch  Street  Theater,  Philadelphia,  when  the 
rivalry  between  this  house  and  the  Chestnut 
Street  Theater  was  at  its  tensest  point.  At  the 


54  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

latter  on  October  loth,  Charles  Kemble  made  his 
first  appearance  in  Philadelphia  in  Hamlet  with  a 
cast  that  included  Miss  Kemble,  Mr.  Sinclair, 
Mr.  James  Wallack,  and  the  Ravel  family.  As  a 
counter  attraction  Forrest  produced  Oralloossa, 
assisted  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hilson,  M.  J.  R.  Scott, 
Mr.  Hill,  Mr.  C.  Kean,  and  Mr.  Cooper.  Kemble's 
fame  was  great,  and  all  who  frequented  theaters 
wished  to  see  him.  At  the  same  time  Bird's 
Gladiator  was  fresh  in  the  minds  of  Philadelphians 
and  won  its  author  a  ready  hearing  for  his  second 
piece.  Critics  had  read  the  play  in  manuscript 
and  given  it  sanguine  announcements.  "For  our 
own  part,"  ran  the  account  in  The  Evening  Post, 
"we  beg  leave  in  conclusion  to  tender  Mr.  Forrest 
our  sincere  thanks  for  the  pleasure  which  a  perusal 
of  Oralloossa  has  afforded  us — we  thank  him  for 
having  called  into  exercise  such  a  mind  as  Dr. 
Bird's — we  thank  him  for  having  added  to  the  per 
manent  literature  of  our  country  a  tragedy,  which, 
whether  for  the  deep  historic  interest  of  the  fable, 
the  ingenuity  of  its  dramatic  construction,  the 
fine  bursts  of  passionate  feeling  and  the  sweet 
touches  of  poetry  with  which  it  abounds,  or  the 
general  nobleness  of  the  sentiments,  and  of  the 
great  moral  lessons  it  inculcates,  has  few  superiors 
in  the  whole  range  of  English  drama."  Special 
scenery  had  been  painted  by  Messrs.  Coyle  and 
Leslie.  Richard  Penn  Smith  wrote  an  eloquent 
prologue.  In  consequence  the  theater-going  public 
of  Philadelphia  was  almost  equally  divided  be- 


FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS      55 

tween  the  houses.  But  favoring  as  the  circum 
stances  were,  Oralloossa  was  hardly  a  success.  It 
was  the  case  of  a  play  that  read  well  but  acted 
poorly.  Forrest  was  quick  to  feel  its  tameness  on 
the  boards  and  threw  himself  into  his  part  with 
such  desperation  that,  in  one  case,  he  dislodged  a 
fellow-actor's  front  teeth  by  his  vehement  lunge 
at  Don  Christ  oval.  Yet,  the  audience  were  plainly 
disappointed.  Oralloossa  was  inferior  to  The 
Gladiator  in  every  respect,  in  plot,  incident,  dia 
logue,  characterization.  In  it  Dr.  Bird  repeated 
the  disastrous  mistake  of  effecting  a  climax  at  the 
end  of  the  third  act  by  the  death  of  Pizarro  without 
being  able  again  to  rise  above  it.  Lavish  with 
praise  as  the  critics  continued  to  be,  Forrest  was 
convinced  that  the  play  was  unworthy  both  author 
and  actor,  and  at  the  end  of  the  season  struck  it 
from  his  list  of  acting  r61es. 

In  the  spring  of  1833  Dr.  Bird  and  Edwin 
Forrest  planned  together  an  extensive  trip  through 
the  South  and  West.  Their  first  intention  was  to 
include  Cuba,  Mexico,  and  parts  of  South  America, 
in  order  to  study  the  peoples,  the  archaeology,  and 
the  customs  of  these  lands.  Dr.  Bird  carried  with 
him  letters  of  introduction  to  General  Pedraza 
and  Mr.  Castillo,  a  United  States  Commissioner 
in  Mexico,  who  were  to  put  him  in  touch  with 
sources  of  information.  In  these  countries  Bird's 
interests  had  long  centered.  He  spoke  Spanish, 
had  made  a  special  study  of  Mexican  and  South 
American  history,  and  had  laid  the  scene  of  his 


56  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

last  play  in  Peru.  From  Philadelphia  they  first 
went  to  Charleston,  arriving  April  I3th.  South 
Carolina  was  then  in  the  throes  of  nullification; 
shops  were  closed,  houses  in  disrepair,  while  the 
populace,  divided  into  nullifiers  and  unionists, 
were  so  ripe  for  a  fight  that  "a  single  personal 
fisticuffing  between  the  two  would  have  led  all  into 
a  general  combat."  Forrest  was  obliged  to  hasten 
on  to  New  Orleans  to  fill  an  engagement,  while 
Bird  visited  Savannah,  Augusta,  Warrenton, 
Milledgeville,  Macon,  Columbus,  Montgomery, 
Selma,  and  Mobile,  reaching  New  Orleans  May 
6th.  It  was  Bird's  intention  to  write  a  book  of 
sketches,  and  each  place  has  left  in  a  diary  its 
accurate  impression.1  At  New  Orleans  they  en 
countered  an  epidemic  of  cholera  which  was  raging 
through  the  South  with  fearful  destructiveness ; 
they  therefore  abandoned  their  trip  to  Central  and 
South  America,  and  headed  for  home.  Under  even 
the  best  conditions  travel  in  those  days  was  an 
arduous  task.  As  Bird  with  pardonable  exaggera 
tion  says,  he  "climbed  hills,  waded  swamps,  slept 
six  in  a  bed,  fed  on  corn  and  bacon,  and  was  often 
imprisoned  in  some  rascally  village  by  the  heavy 
rains  rendering  the  roads  impassable."  Through 
Baton  Rouge  and  Natchez,  they  reached  Nashville 
June  1 6th.  Here  Bird  visited  his  old  friend  John 
Grimes,  with  whom  he  explored  the  Mammoth 
Cave.  They  were  among  the  first  to  penetrate  its 

1  The  title  of  the  proposed  book   was   Sketches   of  America, 
Physical,  Moral,  and  Political,  by  a  Man  of  Leisure. 


FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS      57 

inmost  grottoes,  and  Bird  wrote  a  minute  account 
for  The  American  Monthly  Magazine,  and  for  his 
volume  of  tales  and  recollections,  Peter  Pilgrim. 
With  Forrest  once  more  he  went  on  to  Detroit, 
from  which  point  he  made  a  detour  home  by  way  of 
Niagara  Falls,  passing  "  behind  the  great  Falling 
Sheet  of  Water  to  Termination  Rock,  July  I3th." 
He  arrived  in  Philadelphia  the  latter  part  of  July. 
On  his  return  Dr.  Bird  at  once  set  to  work  on  a 
Mexican  romance  and  on  a  tragedy,  the  scene  of 
which  was  Sante  Fe  de  Bogota.  A  consideration 
of  Calavar  belongs  elsewhere.  The  Broker  of  Bogota, 
as  Bird  named  his  play,  was  finished  by  January, 
1834,  submitted  to  Forrest,  and  accepted,  his 
fourth  play  to  win  a  prize.  It  was  first  produced 
by  Forrest  at  the  Bowery  Theater,  New  York,  on 
February  12,  1834,  and  so  delighted  the  great 
actor  with  its  power  and  appeal  that  immediately 
on  his  return  from  the  performance  he  thus  wrote 
to  Dr.  Bird: 

DEAR  BIRD: 

I  have  just  left  the  theater — your  tragedy 
was  performed  and  crowned  with  entire  suc 
cess.  The  Broker  of  Bogota  will  live  when  our 
vile  trunks  are  rotten.  You  have  every  reason 
to  congratulate  yourself.  Will  you  come  to 
New  York  immediately  upon  the  receipt  of  this 
letter?  Start  on  Friday  morning  and  you  will 
have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  your  last  child 
"in  health  and  spirits."  Come!  Wetmore  is 
desirous  you  should  come  with  him  on  Friday 
next.  Come!  I  will  return  with  you  to  Phila- 


58  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

delphia  on  Tuesday.     All  your  friends  will  be 
rejoiced  to  see  you — you  shall  be  welcomed  with 
hearts  and  hands.    Come,  Come,  Come ! 
Yours  ever, 

EDWIN  FORREST. 

12  Feb.  1834, 

NEW  YORK. 


The  Broker  of  Bogota  has  been  counted  by  many 
Bird's  best  play.  It  lacked  the  melodramatic 
qualities  of  The  Gladiator,  and  required  more  skill 
ful  acting  in  the  minor  parts.  For  these  reasons 
Forrest  gave  it  less  often,  but  it  remained  a 
favorite  with  him  to  the  end  of  his  career.  The 
Broker  of  Bogota  is  a  domestic  drama  of  real  life  in 
its  familiar  course.  Baptista  Febro,  the  broker,  a 
man  of  ripe  years,  has  long  conducted  a  large 
business  in  Bogota.  Two  traits  dominate  the 
man,  personal  honor  and  parental  affection.  In 
consequence  when  his  son,  a  weak  rather  than  a 
bad  man,  turns  to  dissipation,  he  is  vehemently 
provoked  and  tries  reform  by  cutting  him  off  and 
disowning  him.  He  thus  blasts  Ramon's  prospects 
of  marriage  with  a  girl  whose  father  objects  to  a 
penniless  outcast.  In  desperation,  Ramon  opens 
his  bosom  to  Caberero,  a  cool,  dashing  villain,  of 
noble  blood  and  brilliant  mind,  but  utterly  corrupt 
morals,  and  at  his  suggestion  is  entangled  in  a  plot 
to  rob  his  father  and  thus  win  Juana.  The  robbery 
is  committed.  By  a  diabolical  juggling  of  cir 
cumstances  Caberero  turns  back  the  guilt  on 
Febro  himself,  who,  old  and  confused,  stands  piti- 


FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS      59 

fully  helpless  before  the  court.  Meanwhile,  Juana, 
Ramon's  fiancee,  learns  of  her  lover's  base  timidity 
in  allowing  his  father's  conviction,  wrests  from 
him  a  declaration  of  Febro's  innocence,  scorns  his 
offers  of  marriage,  and  hurries  to  the  court  in  time 
to  exonerate  Febro.  But,  meanwhile,  another 
child  has  brought  sorrow  on  the  aged  father; 
Leonor,  his  daughter,  has  eloped  with  a  stranger. 
This  circumstance,  however,  soon  turns  to  joy 
when  the  stranger  proves  a  son  of  Palmera,  the 
viceroy  of  Granada,  who  sues  for  pardon.  Added 
happiness  comes  to  Febro  when  Juana 's  evidence 
puts  his  innocence  beyond  doubt  before  the  as 
sembled  court.  But  alas,  Ramon  in  despair,  hurls 
himself  from  a  cliff.  The  sudden  reversal  of  emo 
tion  is  too  much  for  the  overwrought  Febro;  it 
snaps  the  last  cord;  and  he  falls  to  the  floor  a 
corpse.  Even  in  outline  the  flawless  construction 
of  this  play  becomes  apparent.  Here  is  no  mis 
placed  climax.  Our  interest  is  deftly  transferred 
from  situation  to  situation,  from  Ramon  and 
Juana  to  Rolando  and  Leonor,  to  Febro's  painful 
trial,  to  the  touching  catastrophe.  The  characters, 
too,  have  flesh-and-bone  reality.  Febro  is  an  ac 
tual  acquaintance — hale,  courteous,  plain,  sin 
cere,  outspoken.  In  him,  the  bundle  of  traits  and 
possibilities  that  go  into  the  make  of  a  man  are 
shrewdly  set  forth.  In  the  court  scene  when 
Caberero  so  shuffles  circumstances  that  there  seems 
"neither  hinge  nor  loop  to  hang  a  doubt  on"  of 
Febro's  guilt,  the  silent  eloquence  of  his  innocence 


6o  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

pleads  with  a  thousand  tongues.  His  alternate 
sternness  and  affection,  his  pitiable  helplessness  in 
the  hands  of  Caberero,  his  labor  and  sorrow,  his 
final  dissolution  like  so  much  brittle  glass,  touch- 
ingly  proclaim  him  man  with  man's  infirmities. 
Second  only  to  that  of  Febro  is  the  character  of 
Ramon,  a  slack-fib ered  youth  equally  helpless  in 
a  crisis,  temptation,  or  despair.  In  fact,  all  the 
major  characters  have  the  clean-run  lines  of  actual 
people.  To  conclude,  for  power,  tenderness,  range 
of  character,  searching  portraiture,  and  general 
acting  qualities,  The  Broker  of  Bogota  deserves  a 
fixed  place  in  American  drama. 

One  other  play  hitherto  not  associated  with  his 
name  requires  mention  with  the  dramatic  works  of 
Dr.  Bird.  Metamora,  or  the  Last  of  the  Wampanoags, 
by  John  Augustus  Stone,  was  the  first  of  Forrest's 
prize-plays.  It  was  first  given  in  Philadelphia  at 
the  Arch  Street  Theater,  January  22,  1830,  and  was 
frequently  played  by  Forrest  with  every  mark  of 
favor.  John  Augustus  Stone  was  a  poor  New 
England  actor  who  had  settled  in  Philadelphia  and 
written  several  plays  less  well  known.  Metamora 
was  played  again  and  again  and  yielded  Forrest 
enormous  sums,  but  poor  Stone  shared  a  small  part 
of  them,  and  in  a  fit  of  despair,  at  the  early  age  of 
thirty,  flung  himself  into  the  Schuylkill  at  the 
Spruce  Street  wharf,  Philadelphia.  Where  did 
Stone  get  his  idea  of  Metamora?  Dr.  Bird,  ac 
cording  to  his  wife,  never  spoke  of  Stone  except  in 
terms  of  extreme  pity.  At  the  same  time,  accord- 


FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS      61 

ing  to  the  same  authority,  both  Dr.  Bird  and 
Henry  D.  Bird  asserted  that  Stone  took  the  idea 
of  Metamora  from  an  early  drama  of  Bird's  entitled 
King  Philip,  or  the  Sagamore  written  in  1829  and 
submitted,  among  other  critics,  to  Stone.  Bird's 
early  play  exists  only  in  fragments,  and  a  line  for 
line  comparison  is  impossible,  but  there  is  enough 
to  show  strong  resemblance.  But  Dr.  Bird  had 
more  concern  with  Metamora.  Forrest  gradually 
came  to  the  feeling  that  Stone's  play  required  re 
vision,  and  before  his  tour  to  Great  Britain  in  1836, 
put  it  into  Bird's  hands  for  that  purpose.  The 
play  was  so  written,  according  to  Mrs.  Bird,  that 
revision  was  impracticable.  In  consequence,  Dr. 
Bird  wrote  virtually  a  new  play  differing  from  the 
original  in  dramatis  personae,  plot,  and  dialogue. 
Among  Dr.  Bird's  papers  are  still  to  be  seen  notes 
for  Metamora,  outlines  for  acts,  lists  of  characters, 
scraps  of  scenes,  and  suggestions.  The  play  thus 
revised  was  accepted  by  Forrest  in  September, 
1 836,  Bird  charging  for  the  alterations  $2000.  The 
manuscript  was  always  retained  by  Forrest,  not 
withstanding  repeated  efforts  on  the  part  of  Dr. 
Bird  and  his  family  to  get  the  play.  According  to 
Forrest  he  never  used  the  alterations,  and  in  1856 
had  ' '  not  the  slightest  idea  where  they  are  to  be 
found."1 

The  dramas  of  Dr.  Bird  were  among  the  first 
from  an  American  pen  to  appear  abroad.    On  his 

1  Edwin  Forrest  to  Dr.  E.  R.  Mayer,  Bird's  brother-in-law, 
April  15,  1856. 


62  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

professional  tours  through  Great  Britain  Forrest 
invariably  included  one  or  more  in  his  repertoire. 
On  his  first  tour  in  1836  he  opened  his  engagement 
at  the  Theater  Royal,  Drury  Lane,  the  iyth  of 
October  with  The  Gladiator.  This  with  Lear, 
Macbeth,  and  Othello,  composed  his  chief  roles. 
On  his  second  trip  in  1845-1846,  he  added  The 
Broker  of  Bogota.  It  is  not  surprising  that  in  Eng 
land  neither  of  these  American  plays  stirred  the 
enthusiasm  they  stirred  at  home.  The  fact  did 
not  necessarily  reflect  on  the  plays.  Both  the 
theme  and  treatment  of  The  Gladiator,  with  its 
stress  on  the  physical  in  acting,  unfitted  it  for  a 
strong  appeal  to  a  critical  London  audience  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  It  was  not  exactly  what  they 
liked  or  looked  for.  Besides  an  Englishman  felt 
the  one  true  test  of  an  actor's  power  was  Shake 
speare.  Accordingly,  it  was  not  a  condemnation  of 
The  Gladiator  when  after  Forrest's  speech  at  the 
end  of  the  play,  the  audience  shouted  to  him  to 
appear  in  Shakespearean  r61es. *  There  is,  too,  a 
likelihood  that  the  condescension  toward  American 
art  generally,  so  marked  at  the  time,  was  not 
absent  in  this  instance.  It  showed  itself  in  the  air 

1  Henry  Wyckoff  thus  described  the  first  London  performance 
of  The  Gladiator:  "Old  Drury  was  crowded  from  pit  to  ceiling 
with  an  eager  and  excited  audience.  All  the  friends  of  the  popular 
actors  of  the  day  congregated  in  force.  The  American  minister, 
and  all  the  fellow-countrymen  of  Forrest  were  likewise  present. 
There  was  silence  until  Spartacus,  the  Gladiator,  came  forward, 
when  a  hearty  shout  of  welcome  broke  forth  from  all  parts  of  the 
house.  His  magnificent  person  astonished  those  who  had  never 


FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS      63 

of  mild  outrage  with  which  they  heard  Forrest's 
speech,  and  their  rebuke  when  he  interpreted  his 
ovation  as  a  mark  of  friendliness  to  America. 
On  the  other  hand,  many  reviewers  put  their 
ringer  with  the  surety  that  often  distinguishes  the 
English  critic  on  flaws  in  the  play.  The  domi 
nance  of  the  chief  character  and  the  faintness  of 
the  others  they  noted  at  once.  The  character  of 
Senona  especially,  who  accompanied  Spartacus  in 
his  exploits  and  by  his  supposed  skill  in  divina 
tion  prompted  some  of  his  most  daring  exploits, 
deserved,  they  thought,  more  distinction.  The 
weakening  after  the  arena  scene  they  perceived 
at  once.  Yet  there  was  much  in  The  Gladiator 
that  the  English  admired.  They  thought  the 
subject  admirably  adapted  for  scenic  representa 
tion.  The  perfect  fit  of  the  chief  r61e  to  Forrest's 
powers  won  approval.  Of  course,  its  great  scenes 
fired  its  audience  abroad  as  at  home.  " Indeed," 
ran  a  review  in  The  Sun  of  October  18,  1836,  "we 
have  not  heard  more  enthusiastic  bursts  of  applause 
shake  the  walls  of  an  English  theater  since  Othello 
expired  with  poor  Kean.  Nor  did  they  omit  to 

seen  him.  His  rich  and  powerful  voice  thrilled  all  who  had  not 
heard  it.  His  earnest,  impassioned  acting  quite  electrified  the 
audience.  At  the  end  he  was  overwhelmed  with  applause  and 
it  was  plain  he  had  secured  a  hold  on  British  sympathies,  which 
he  never  lost.  There  was  a  clique  present  who  were  disappointed 
by  his  success,  and  when  he  appeared,  at  the  general  demand,  to 
make  his  acknowledgments,  they  raised  the  cry  of  '  Shakespeare, 
Shakespeare!'"  Reminiscences  of  an  Idler,  chapter  xxxvii.,  pp. 
376-7. 


64  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

note  and  praise  the  occasional  passages  of  rare 
beauty,  particularly  that  describing  the  Thracian 
valleys  before  the  Roman  invasion  when, 

".  .  .  .  Peace  was  tinkling  in  the  shepherd's  bells, 
And  singing  with  the  reapers." 

While  it  is  true  the  play  did  not  create  the  stir 
Forrest  expected  and  he  wrote  to  his  mother  that 
he  did  not  think  the  English  "  treated  The  Gladia 
tor  and  Dr.  Bird  fairly, "  it  is  true  also,  that  all  in 
all  it  was  favorably  received.  Of  this  there  is 
space  for  but  a  single  testimonial,  of  many  that 
might  be  cited. 

DRAMATIC  AUTHORS  SOCIETY 

LONDON,  Octo.  26,  1836. 
SIR: 

I  have  the  honor  to  inform  you  that  at  a 
general  meeting  of  this  society,  you  as  the 
author  of  the  Play  of  The  Gladiator,  were  unan 
imously  elected  an  Honorary  Member  in  token 
of  respect  for  your  Talent  as  a  writer  by  the 
English  Dramatic  Authors. 

I  have  been  directed  to  intimate  this  to  you 
through  your  friend  Mr.  E.  Forrest,  which  I  do 
with  pleasure 
I  am, 
Sir 
Your  faithful  servant 

RICHARD  BRINSLEY  PEAKE. 
Secretary  &  Treasurer, 
42  King  Street, 

Convent  Garden. 
To  DR.  BIRD. 
etc.,  etc. 


FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS      65 

Such,  then,  were  Bird's  contributions  to  Ameri 
can  drama.  It  remains  only  to  consider  briefly 
Forrest's  share  in  their  success;  his  art;  his  per 
sonal  relations  with  Bird ;  and  to  conclude  with  an 
account  of  Bird's  views  and  methods  of  dramatic 
composition. 

The  success  of  Bird's  plays,  The  Gladiator  par 
ticularly,   owed  a  large  acknowledgment  to  the 
powers  of  Edwin  Forrest.    For  him  they  were  first 
written,  and  no  rdles  in  his  acting  list  better  dis 
played  his  art.    Edwin  Forrest  belonged  to  what 
has   been    called   the   natural    school   of   acting. 
Romantic  rather  than  classic,  it  was  empiric  in 
method  and  built  its  reading  of  life  rather  on  ob 
servation,  intuition,  instinct,  and  practice  than  on 
traditional  formulas.     Forrest  began  his  career  as 
a  strolling  player  through  the  South  and  West. 
He  early  learned  to  heed  as  the  truest  tutors  his 
own  great  depths  of  feeling  and  exuberance  of 
passion,  his  instinctive  democracy  of  sentiment, 
and  men  themselves  in  the  original  types.     Rules 
and  traditions  he  was  apt  to  ignore.    And  yet  he 
was  not  unmindful  of  his  great  forbears.     Frorn 
Kean  he  caught  a  strong  bias  toward  the  melo 
dramatic,  from  Cooper  a  fondness  for  the  stately 
and  the  statuesque.    But  men  and  things  were  his 
chief  study.     He  used  to  walk  behind  old  men, 
watching  their  every  movement  to  get  the  exact 
tread  and  mannerism  of  age.    He  visited  hospitals 
and  asylums,  noting  all  the  phases  of  weakness  and 
death,  the  features  and  actions  of  maniacs.     He 
s 


66  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

ingeniously  devised  contrivances  to  give  to  his  act 
ing  the  utmost  reality.  In  the  part  of  Virginius, 
for  example,  Forrest  for  years  had  the  hollow  blade 
of  the  knife  filled  with  a  red  fluid  which  on  the 
pressure  of  a  spring  as  he  struck  his  daughter 
spurted  like  blood  from  a  stab.  A  lady  once 
fainted  away  as  he  played  this  scene,  and  realizing 
that  the  act  was  artifice,  not  art,  he  never  repeated 
it.  Of  course,  this  realism,  when  within  the 
bounds  of  art,  made  for  effectiveness.  James 
Oakes  recounts  a  performance  of  Virginius,  where 
among  men  and  women  audibly  sobbing  there 
sat  near  the  stage  "a  fine  looking  old  gentleman 
with  hair  as  white  as  snow."  In  the  part  where 
the  desperate  father  kills  his  daughter,  so  carried 
away  was  the  old  man  that  he  uttered  in  distinct 
tones,  ' '  My  God,  he  has  killed  her ! "  Afterwards, 
when  Virginius,  having  lost  his  reason,  conies  upon 
the  stage  and  with  a  distraught  air  says,  "Where 
is  my  daughter?"  the  old  man  arose,  and  looking 
the  actor  earnestly  in  the  face  with  tears  streaming 
from  his  eyes,  said,  "Good  God,  don't  you  know 
that  you  have  killed  her?"  This  episode  Forrest 
counted  one  of  the  greatest  tributes  he  ever 
received. 

Again,  the  art  of  Edwin  Forrest  had  about  it  a 
"magnanimous  breadth  and  generosity  of  manly 
temperament."  Of  this  the  r61e  of  Spartacus  was 
a  superb  example.  All  who  witnessed  it  felt 
Forrest's  burning  honesty  of  passion,  his  open 
fellowship,  his  breadth  of  sympathy,  his  large 


FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS      67 

elemental  nature.  His  best  r61es  were  ever  em 
bodiments  of  man  in  his  primitive  virtue  and  glory 
rather  than  in  the  refinements  of  society.  With 
this  went  hand  in  hand  the  spell  of  his  physical 
magnetism.  "His  Gladiator,"  says  Alger,  his 
biographer,  "in  his  palmiest  days  of  vital  strength 
was  something  never  surpassed  in  its  kind.  Every 
stroke  touched  the  raw  of  truth,  and  it  was  sublime 
in  its  terribleness."  Celebrated  artists  studied  his 
wonderful  body,  from  Gilbert  Stuart  to  William 
Page,  the  latter  depicting  him  as  Spartacus  in  the 
arena,  when  about  to  utter  his  stirring  challenge 
to  the  throngs.  And  then  Forrest's  accuracy  and 
defmiteness  gave  his  action  distinction  and  power. 
Critics  joined  in  eulogizing  his  reading,  which  was 
a  "model  of  precision  and  lucidity  in  the  extri 
cation  of  the  sense  of  words.  His  recitation  was 
as  clear  as  a  mathematical  demonstration."  His 
voice,  naturally  deep,  rich,  and  strong,  he  had  given 
by  exercise  an  astonishing  range  of  fullness  and 
power.  Such  were  the  virtues  of  Forrest's  art, — 
sincerity,  eloquence,  power,  an  overwhelming 
animal  magnetism.  Of  course,  he  had  short 
comings, — a  lack  of  spirituality,  of  beauty,  of 
charm,  of  subtlety  and  refinement,  which  pre 
vented  him  from  wholly  winning  approval  from  the 
intellectual  part  of  the  public.  He  was  too  in 
clined,  as  William  Winter  puts  it,  "to  dominate  a 
multitude  that  had  never  heard  anything  short  of 
thunder  and  never  felt  anything  till  it  was  hit  with 
a  club. ' '  But  of  these  faults  we  must  not  make  too 


68  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

much;  they  belonged  as  much  to  the  school  and 
the  time  as  to  the  man. 

A  happy  stroke  it  was  that  brought  into  inti 
macy  these  two  men  at  the  start  of  their  careers 
when  each  could  thus  ably  supplement  the  other. 
It  is  a  regret  that  a  friendship  so  enriching  should 
have  had  so  brief  a  term.  Edwin  Forrest  and 
Robert  Montgomery  Bird  first  became  acquainted 
in  the  office  of  a  friend,  Dr.  Black,  in  the  spring  of 
1831,  when  arrangements  were  made  regarding 
The  Gladiator.  They  were  men  of  many  like 
tastes,  highly  regarded  each  other's  talents,  were 
soon  to  travel  together,  and  so  became  the  closest 
of  friends.  Bird  counted  Forrest  the  best  actor 
for  Spartacus  "in  Christendom";  while  Forrest 
introduced  Bird  to  his  English  friends  as  one  of 
America's  first  dramatists.  Unhappily  for  both, 
there  was  in  those  days,  as  we  have  seen,  no  copy 
right  law  which  defined  the  rights  of  an  author  and 
an  actor  in  a  play.  Dr.  Bird  wrote  under  condi 
tions  somewhat  like  those  of  Shakespeare's  day. 
An  author  kept  his  play  in  manuscript,  and  con 
fined  it  to  a  single  actor  or  manager.  The  right 
of  representation,  the  only  property  of  any  value, 
passed  without  restriction  to  the  actor  or  manager, 
who  paid  an  initial  cost,  agreed  to  further  pay 
ments  if  a  success,  and  gave  the  play  as  often  as  he 
liked.  The  only  condition  of  success,  as  Bird  wrote 
to  George  Boker  years  after,  was  to  surrender  every 
aspiration  to  literary  fame  and  trust  your  work 
as  the  only  means  of  communication  with  the 


FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS      69 

world  to  a  theatrical  company,  which  more  often 
than  not  ranted  and  mangled  it  in  the  acting.  In 
Bird's  case  the  procedure  was  further  confused 
by  the  fact  that  his  plays  were  prize-plays,  sub 
mitted  and  accepted  in  competition. 

It  was  the  absence  of  any  laws  on  these  matters 
that  led  to  the  break  between  Forrest  and  Dr. 
Bird,  and  largely  induced  the  latter  to  abandon 
dramatic  authorship.  The  exact  situation  be 
tween  them  seems  to  have  been  this.  When  Ed 
win  Forrest  accepted  Bird's  first  play,  he  made  a 
payment  with  the  understanding  that  if  it  were  a 
success  Bird  should  receive  $3000.  A  percentage 
on  each  representation  was  also  mentioned.  As 
has  been  noted,  it  was  simply  an  understanding, 
not  a  written  contract.  For  Pelopidas,  the  first 
drama,  $1000  was  offered.  This  play  being  re 
placed  by  The  Gladiator  and  not  given,  a  similar 
offer  of  $1000  was  made  by  Forrest  to  Bird  and 
accepted.  Presumably  this  was  partly  in  the 
nature  of  a  prize.  The  same  amount  was  paid  for 
each  Oralloossa  and  The  Broker  of  Bogota.  In 
short  Bird  received  for  the  four  plays,  of  which 
three  were  performed,  the  sum  of  $3000.  He  had 
borrowed  from  Forrest  loans  on  notes  to  the 
amount  of  $2000,  making  in  all  $5000.  These 
loans  Forrest  later  tried  to  collect,  giving  Bird  his 
first  intimation  that  the  balance  on  the  plays  was 
never  to  be  paid.  This  move  on  Forrest's  part 
would  seem  to  justify  those  who  have  declared  his 
prize  scheme  simply  a  ruse  to  get  plays  cheaply. 


70  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

Furthermore,  at  Forrest's  request,  Bird  rewrote 
Metamora,  which  was  accepted  in  September  of 
1836,  and  for  which  Bird  thought  due  him  $2000  as 
he  says,  "for  so  much  I  think  it  worth."  In  a  word 
Dr.  Bird  fixed  Forrest's  indebtedness  at  $11,000 
of  which  he  had  received  but  $5000.  To  quote  his 
own  words,  after  an  itemized  statement  he  con 
tinues,  "He  owes  me  therefore,  $6000;  though  I 
have  no  bond ,  contract ,  or  other  written  instrument 
to  show  that  he  does."  To  Bird  the  situation  was 
the  more  galling  because  of  Forrest's  enormous 
profits  from  the  plays.  His  custom  was,  Bird  says, 
to  perform  the  play  "at  the  first  gettings  up  in 
New  York,  Philadelphia,  and  Boston  five  successive 
nights  in  each  place;  and,  in  the  second  engage 
ments  in  these  towns,  so  many  times  more  as  to  be 
equal,  counted  with  the  getting  up  engagements, 
to  twenty-five  or  thirty  nights  in  all."1  He  thus 
obtained  so  many  more  "crams."  Forrest  re 
ceived  for  the  first  nights  half  the  gross  receipts, 
for  the  four  remaining  nights  half  the  profits;  he 
then  made  the  rounds  of  the  theaters  in  the  South 
and  West,  drawing  returns  almost  as  large.  By 
a  rough  but  conservative  estimate,  Bird  fixed 
Forrest's  profits  on  a  play  for  the  first  year  at 
$12,000.  And  two  of  Bird's  plays,  as  we  saw, 
Forrest  gave  off  and  on  to  the  end  of  his  career. 

It  was  at  this  juncture,  after  much  unsuccessful 
endeavor,  that  Dr.  Bird  made  an  appointment  in 

1  See  Memoranda  among  the  Bird  MSS.,  Library  of  University 
of  Pennsylvania. 


FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS      71 

his  home  with  Forrest  in  1837.  His  object  was  to 
have  a  settlement  as  well  as  to  get  the  manuscript 
of  Metamora,  which  Forrest  had  taken  with  him 
to  Europe.  An  angry  dispute  arose.  The  two 
parted.  When  asked  by  his  wife  who  his  visitor 
was,  Dr.  Bird  replied,  "That  scoundrel!  He  is  not 
fit  to  be  in  the  presence  of  a  lady."  From  that 
hour,  according  to  his  wife,  Dr.  Bird  lost  all  interest 
whatever  in  the  drama,  abandoned  dramatic  au 
thorship,  and  never  after  frequented  the  theater, 
not  even  to  witness  his  own  plays. I 

It  only  remains  to  set  forth  briefly,  and  as  far  as 
possible  in  his  own  words,  Dr.  Bird's  sources,  aims, 
and  methods  of  workmanship,  for  we  have  about 

1  Among  the  Bird  MSS.  I  find  the  following  statement  of  Mrs. 
Bird:  "I  have  understood  that  it  was  customary  to  add  to  the 
announcements  of  Forrest's  intended  representations  of  The 
Gladiator,  in  New  York,  the  information  that  the  Author  would 
be  present  on  the  occasion.  The  same  gratuitous  piece  of  news 
may,  for  aught  I  know,  have  been  afforded  in  other  places.  In 
regard  to  such  notices  I  can  positively  assert  that  they  were  al 
together  without  Dr.  Bird's  knowledge  or  consent — that  he  held 
no  direct  intercourse  with  Mr.  Forrest  for  at  least  sixteen  years, 
the  last  interview  with  him  being  for  business  purposes  in  the  fall 
of  1837  after  Mr.  F.'s  return  from  Europe,  when  Dr.  made  a 
last  direct,  but  unsuccessful  effort  to  obtain  possession  of  the 
manuscript  of  Metamora,  as  well  as  of  the  money  due  by  Forrest 
— that  Dr.  neither  went  to  New  York  nor  thought  of  going  during 
the  last  1 8  or  20  years  of  his  life — that  during  that  period  he 
never  attended  a  representation  of  any  of  his  own  plays,  nor 
was  inside  a  theater  half  a  dozen  times:  indeed,  I  believe,  I 
may  truly  say  that  during  that  period  he  was  present  but  once  at 
a  theatrical  performance,  and  that  was  for  the  purpose  of  doing 
honor  to  a  new  play  of  Mr.  Boker's— from  which  he  returned 
home  sickened  by  the  heat  and  crowd." 


72  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

these  matters  the  fullest  information.  Few  liter 
ary  artists  have  thrown  open  their  workshops  with 
more  unreserve  than  Dr.  Bird.  Among  his  papers 
is  a  mass  of  notes,  suggestions,  outlines,  abstracts, 
diaries,  drafts,  and  fragments  that  disclose  most 
interestingly  his  successive  steps  in  composition. 
One  can  almost  trace  the  plays  from  their  first 
impulse  scene  by  scene  to  completion.  Perhaps 
what  first  strikes  the  reader  of  these  papers  is  the 
amount  of  research  that  preceded  writing.  Dr. 
Bird  counted  it  of  first  importance  to  catch  the 
exact  "form  and  pressure  "  of  the  times  and  peoples 
among  whom  his  story  lay  and  spared  no  pains  to 
get  them.  The  Gladiator,  for  instance,  carried  him 
far  into  the  Latin  writers.  I  find,  besides  the 
English  works  of  Hooke  and  of  Ferguson,  a  de 
tailed  list  of  leadings  in  the  works  of  Florus, 
Livy,  Eutropius,  Plutarch,  Paterculus,  Appian,  and 
Tacitus. J  His  research  into  the  life  and  history  of 
Mexico  and  Spanish  America  was  equally  exten 
sive;  upwards  of  two  hundred  and  ten  finely  writ 
ten  foolscap  sheets  remain  abstracting  histories, 
memoirs,  and  books  of  travel.  Thus  quarried,  the 
incidents  were  thrown  together  into  a  short  prose 
resume,  parted  into  plot  and  subplot,  and  blocked 
out  into  acts  and  scenes,  with  points  marked  for 

1  Among  the  Bird  MSS.  I  find  the  following  list  of  sources 
probably  used  in  connection  with  The  Gladiator:  Plutarch, 
Crassus  [8-12];  Livy,  Epit.,  xcv.;  Florus,  iii.,  20;  Eutropius,  vi.,  2 ; 
Tacitus,  Ann.,  xv.,  46;  Paterculus,  ii.,  30;  Appian  [De  Bellis 
Civilibus,  i.,  116-121];  Sallust  [Hist.,  iii.,  frag.  90,  93,  96,  100, 
101;  iv.,  frag.,  41];  Caecilius. 


FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS      73 

striking  speeches  and  situations.  Abundance  of 
detail  was  added  to  give  the  story  the  utmost 
realism,  and  upon  this  frame  was  woven  bit  by 
bit  the  dialogue. 

Of  dramatic  effect  Dr.  Bird  had  very  definite 
ideas.  ' '  The  true  secret  of  effect  (in  drama) , "  he 
says,  "consists  in  having  everything  as  well  in 
details  as  in  general  structure  epigrammatic  or 
climacteric,  the  story  rising  to  rapidity  and  clos 
ing  with  power;  the  chief  characters  increasing  in 
passion  and  energy;  the  events  growing  in  interest, 
the  scenes  and  acts  each  accumulating  power  above 
their  precursors ;  the  strength  of  a  speech  augment 
ing  at  its  close,  and  the  important  characters  dis 
missed  at  each  exit  with  some  sort  of  point  and 
emphasis."  Of  course  the  mastery  of  this  effect 
involved  all  those  complex  requirements  that 
made  playwriting  so  arduous.  "The  first  part  of 
the  education  of  a  dramatist,"  he  says,  "is  that 
which  fits  him  to  be  a  writer;  the  second  makes 
him  an  actor;  the  third  inducts  him  into  the  prin 
ciples  of  criticism;  and  he  has  completed  his 
studies  when  he  can  exercise  the  functions  of  the 
three  not  separately  but  together.  The  education 
of  an  actor,"  he  goes  on,  "  can  only  be  acquired  in 
the  theater,  and  in  a  close  study  of  great  plays. 
First  he  must  learn  'stage  business,'  comprising  the 
mechanical  aspects  of  the  actor's  art,  the  manage 
ment  of  voice,  gestures,  grouping,  and  so  on.  He 
must  then  learn  to  act  with  effect  and  to  see  in  our 
great  dramas  'what  it  is  that  is  effective.'  He 


74  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

will  perceive  that  certain  incidents  and  situations 
and  certain  forms  of  language  are  impressive  on  the 
boards;  while  others,  perhaps  not  less  interesting 
and  beautiful  in  imagination,  are  entirely  without 
point  in  performance.  The  great,  perhaps  the 
chief,  secret  of  effect  depends  upon  the  style  of 
language.  .  .  .  The  secret  is  simple:  that  writer 
stumbles  upon  dramatic  effect  whose  characters 
speak  like  men;  and  he  fails  whose  personages 
declaim  like  orators  and  poets.  We  sympathize 
in  a  theater  with  nothing  that  is  not  natural;  we 
even  feel  the  homeliest  expressions  of  passion, 
when  they  are  like  those  of  the  beings  around  us. 
.  .  .  Shakespeare  is  a  greater  dramatist  than 
others  because  he  is  more  natural.  Nature  is 
unchangeable ;  and  at  this  day  .  .  .  Othello  speaks 
in  language  more  akin  to  that  of  our  fellows  than 
his  classic  shadow,  Zampa.  The  human  expression 
that  breathes  from  the  lips  of  Lear  and  Macbeth 
would  render  them  heirlooms  on  the  stage,  had 
they  been  otherwise  on  a  level  with  the  other 
writings  of  the  day." 

Finally,  the  risks  and  difficulties  that  beset  the 
dramatist's  path,  Dr.  Bird  was  ever  most  frank  to 
confess.  Play  writing  he  counted  the  most  ardu 
ous  form  of  literary  composition.  "What  a  fool  I 
was  to  think  of  writing  plays,"  he  says  in  his 
Secret  Records.  ''To  be  sure,  they  are  much 
wanted.  But  then  novels  are  much  easier  sort  of 
things.  ...  A  tragedy  takes,  or  should  take,  as 
much  labor  as  two  romances;  and  one  comedy  as 


FORREST  AND  THE  LATER  PLAYS      75 

much  as  six  tragedies.  How  blessedly  and  lazily, 
in  making  a  novel,  a  man  may  go  spinning  and 
snoring  over  his  quires."  When  done,  what  a  risk 
the  play  ran  in  the  presentation!  In  many  cases 
the  actors  were  so  crude  and  amateurish  that  to 
entrust  them  with  a  piece  was  to  damn  it  at  the 
start.  If  discreet,  he  would  place  the  burden  of  his 
play  on  two  or  three  performers  of  real  power,  for 
most  companies  had  no  more.  In  fine,  considering 
the  oblivion,  the  shabby  returns,  the  risks  and 
difficulties,  the  exacting  and  varied  requirements 
that  lie  in  the  way  of  the  dramatist,  "it  is  not 
wonderful  few  men  have  the  courage  to  tread  it. 
The  marvel  is  that  any  are  found  so  daring. ' ' 


CHAPTER  V 

A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST 

ON  February  5,  1834,  Robert  Montgomery  Bird 
passed  his  twenty-eighth  birthday.  And  indeed 
it  must  have  been  with  no  ordinary  satisfaction. 
There  was  everything  to  fill  him  with  pride  in  the 
past  and  hope  for  the  future.  He  had  written 
four  tragedies  of  which  two  were  soon  to  reach  the 
height  of  favor  on  the  stage.  His  portfolios  were 
filled  with  plans  and  scenarios  for  new  plays.  With 
the  American  public  his  name  alone  would  have 
insured  further  effort  an  appreciative  hearing. 
He  was  a  warmly  admired  friend  of  Edwin  Forrest. 
He  had  the  gift  of  sturdy  health  which,  however, 
in  a  few  years  was  to  be  his  no  more.  And  yet  he 
had  written  his  last  play.  The  next  five  years 
Dr.  Bird  gave  to  a  wholly  different  type  of  litera 
ture  with  a  productiveness  and  success  that  is 
remarkable. 

His  change  to  the  novel  was  due  to  several 
causes.  First  of  all,  Bird's  strength  lay  rather  in 
prose  than  in  verse  as  an  examination  of  his  early 
pieces  in  Snowden's  Magazine  makes  plain.  Then, 
too,  his  talents,  as  he  says  in  one  of  his  letters,  were 

76 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  77 

"of  too  discursive  and  diffuse  a  turn  to  shine  in  a 
nutshell, "  a  fact  that  doubtless  helped  to  make 
play  writing  the  arduous  task  he  found  it.  The 
drama  of  all  forms  demands  brevity  and  compact 
ness.  A  more  urgent  consideration  still  was  the 
fact  that  the  romance  was  the  literary  fashion. 
Scott  abroad  and  Cooper  in  America  had  set  the 
vogue  which  the  young  novitiate  in  letters,  if  he 
aspired  to  prominence,  was  tempted  to  follow. 
Much  more  than  the  drama,  it  afforded  a  career. 
The  one  condition  of  success  for  the  dramatist, 
i.e.,  to  have  a  play  accepted  by  an  actor  and  to 
confine  its  use,  in  manuscript,  to  him,  virtually 
shut  off  his  hopes  as  a  man  of  letters.  His  only 
contact  with  the  public  was  through  the  medium 
of  a  company  that  as  often  as  not  garbled  a  piece 
in  presentation.  Hand  in  hand  went  a  remunera 
tion  so  scanty  that  the  dramatist  was  forced  to 
other  means  of  a  livelihood.  The  wonder  is  that 
any  at  that  time  chose  to  write  for  the  stage. 
"Novels,"  as  Bird  himself  put  it,  "immortalize 
one's  pocket  much  sooner." 

Dr.  Bird's  interests,  as  we  have  noted,  had  long 
centered  in  Mexican  life  and  history.  He  had 
acquired  the  Spanish  tongue,  and  read  widely  in  its 
literature  and  annals.  Among  his  papers  are  lists 
of  books  and  scraps  of  Mexican  chronology  for  a 
story  he  apparently  intended  to  call  Kevar,  or  The 
Knight  of  the  Conquest.  It  was  his  intention,  on  his 
Southern  trip  with  Forrest,  to  visit  Mexico  and 
study  at  first  hand  the  peoples  and  customs. 


78  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

Accordingly  it  is  no  surprise  to  find  there  the  scene 
of  his  first  romance.  Calavar,  or  The  Knight  of  the 
Conquest  was  finished  in  the  early  months  of  1 834, 
and  sent  to  Carey,  Lea  &  Co. ,  who  thus  acknowl 
edged  its  receipt : 

DEAR  DOCTOR: 

I  feel  so  well  satisfied  that  your  book  will 
sell  that  I  think  it  is  better  to  stereotype  it  at 
once.    If  you  agree  with  me,  well — if  not,  I  will 
send  a  printer  to  you.    If  you  think  proper  you 
can  send  copy  at  once  to  Mr.  Pagan. 
I  send  the  Confessions  and  am 
Yr  truly, 

H.  C.  CAREY, 

Feb.   15. 
R.  M.  BIRD,  ESQ. 

After  some  adjustments  articles  of  agreement 
were  drawn  up  April  17,  1834.  According  to  them 
Calavar  was  to  be  stereotyped  at  the  expense  and 
risk  of  Carey  and  Lea.  Sufficient  copies  to  meet 
the  demand  were  to  be  printed.  Dr.  Bird  was  to 
receive  one  half  the  proceeds  of  sales,  after  deduct 
ing  the  cost  of  stereotyping  and  one  half  of  the 
cost  of  paper,  printing,  binding,  and  advertising. 
The  agreement  was  to  continue  seven  years  from 
the  date  of  publication.  Semi-annual  statements 
of  the  sales — which  fortunately  have  been  pre 
served — were  to  be  sent  to  Dr.  Bird.  There  were 
other  stipulations  of  minor  consequence.  The 
book  was  copyrighted  and  given  to  the  public  in 
October  of  1834. 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  79 

Calavar  is  an  historical  novel  with  a  factual  set 
ting  of  acknowledged  accuracy.  It  concerns  the 
history  of  Mexico  at  the  time  of  the  conquest  in 
1520  and  depicts  that  full  and  stirring  period  from 
the  battle  between  Hernando  Cortez  and  Narvaez, 
by  which  Cortez  possessed  himself  of  the  city  of 
Zempoalla,  to  the  famous  battle  of  Otumba.  The 
hero  is  a  young  Cavalier  fresh  from  the  siege  of 
Rhodes,  who  comes  to  Mexico  to  attend  his  rela 
tive,  Calavar,  as  a  sworn  adherent.  He  joins  the 
army  of  Narvaez  on  the  eve  of  its  defeat,  accom 
panies  Cortez  to  Mexico,  engages  in  the  thrilling 
siege  of  the  palace  of  Axajacatl  and  the  terrible 
night -retreat  from  the  city,  and  winds  up  his  ad 
ventures  on  the  field  of  Otumba.  In  the  mate 
rials  of  the  story  Dr.  Bird  was  both  fortunate  and 
unfortunate.  Certainly,  for  the  reader  of  fiction, 
here  was  something  fresh,  remote,  and  splendid. 
Southern  life,  Indian  life,  English  life  (as  Ameri 
cans  conceived  it)  had  all  been  treated.  But 
Calavar  explored  a  region  rich  in  romance  and 
hitherto  untouched  in  fiction.  Fortunate,  too,  was 
Bird's  choice  of  the  particular  period,  the  days  of 
the  Conquest.  A  series  of  events  lay  at  hand 
ready-made,  which  were  certain  to  fire  the  imagina 
tion, — the  first  push  between  rival  invaders  ter 
minating  among  the  burning  temples  of  Zempoalla ; 
the  march  to  Mexico  over  the  field  of  Tlascula, 
through  the  ruins  of  Cholula,  among  the  volcanoes; 
the  entrance  to  the  royal  Tenochtitlan ;  the  battles 
by  day  and  night,  at  the  palace,  in  the  streets,  on 


8o  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

the  pyramids;  the  death  of  Montezuma ;  the  ever 
memorable  Noche  Trieste,  as  it  is  still  called  by 
Spanish  writers.  On  the  other  hand,  for  many 
readers  the  whole  subject  of  Mexico  with  its 
heathendom,  halfbreeds,  and  barbarism  must  have 
held  slight  interest.  The  portion  of  the  hemisphere 
was  at  fault.  And  then  Bird  was  forced  at  the 
price  of  almost  infinite  toil  to  get  up  what  writers 
term  local  coloring.  When  Cooper  wrote  of  the 
forest  and  the  sea,  he  had  only  to  call  to  mind  the 
life  he  had  lived,  the  hazards  he  had  run,  and 
the  men  he  had  met,  for  the  furniture  of  a  setting. 
This  Bird  had  to  acquire  by  poring  over  Mexican 
chronicles,  histories,  memoirs,  books  of  travel,  and 
maps.  The  preliminary  reading  for  his  two  Mexi 
can  novels  was  extraordinary  in  range  and  amount. 
I  find  among  his  papers  upwards  of  210  finely 
written  foolscap  sheets  of  notes,  chronologies,  ab 
stracts,  and  jottings.  Among  the  books  so  sum 
marized  are  Stevenson's  Twenty  Years'  Residence 
in  South  America;  Bernal  Diaz  del  Castillo's  True 
History  of  the  Conquest  of  Mexico;  Schmidtmeyer's 
Travels  into  Chile;  De  Solis's  History  of  the  Conquest 
of  Mexico;  Lyon's  Residence  and  Tour  in  Mexico; 
Ward's  Mexico  in  1827;  Bullock's  Six  Months  in 
Mexico;  Ulloa's  A  Voyage  to  South  America;  Clavi- 
gero's  Mexico.  There  is  a  list  of  seventeen  titles 
for  additional  reading.  That  Bird  was  success 
ful  in  his  protraiture  both  Prescott  and  Parkman 
have  borne  witness. 

With    its  obvious   defects,    Calavar    has  some 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  81 

merits  of  first  excellence.  The  historical  novel  is 
an  exacting  form  to  work  in  by  reason  of  the  double 
task  it  places  on  the  writer.  He  must  first  of  all 
have  a  fairly  accurate  groundwork  of  facts.  Actual 
men  and  affairs  must  be  presented  as  history 
knows  them.  But  the  facts  of  history  are  mostly 
gray,  lifeless,  and  like  broken  torsos  must  be 
pieced  out  and  suffused  with  being.  To  do  this  he 
must  have  the  constructive  imagination.  He  must 
lift  facts  from  the  dull  level  of  exposition  and  see 
"living  men  in  the  old  documents."  These  two 
demands  Calavar  meets  with  rare  success.  In  it 
are  set  forth  with  as  lifelike  actuality  as  anywhere 
in  fiction  the  heroes  of  the  Conquest  of  Mexico. 
Again  the  prose  of  the  book  entitled  Bird  to  rank 
as  an  author.  Although  at  times  too  full  and  dis 
cursive,  it  is  easy,  flexible,  when  need  be  dramatic, 
and  vividly  pictorial.  Bird's  descriptions  won  the 
critics  to  a  man.  Quotation  would  be  tedious  and 
we  can  only  mention  the  account  of  the  night 
approach  to  Zempoalla,  the  description  of  Cortez 
and  his  trusty  band  when  discovered  encamped 
in  the  near-by  valley,  the  Night  of  Sorrow,  and  the 
disastrous  retreat  from  the  capital.  The  wealth 
of  stirring  episode  has  been  already  mentioned. 
Dr.  Bird  possessed  as  his  own,  it  is  to  be  recalled, 
the  playwright's  cunning  at  dramatic  narrative. 
Of  the  many  well-drawn  characters  in  the  book 
perhaps  the  sharpest  or  subtlest  are  Calavar, 
Amador  de  Leste,  Abdalla,  Jacinto,  Bordello. 
One  other  feature  of  Calavar  deserves  mention 


82  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

because  it  characterizes  all  his  novels,  its  fullness 
and  intricacy  of  plot. 

In  the  spring  of  1834,  before  Calavar  appeared, 
Dr.  Bird  took  his  only  trip  to  Europe.  It  was  his 
intention  to  remain  in  England  some  months, 
possibly  a  year,  to  meet  the  men  of  letters,  ac 
quaint  himself  with  English  life,  and  supervise  an 
English  edition  of  Calavar,  a  manuscript  of  which 
he  took  with  him.  Again  his  many  friends  supplied 
him  with  letters  of  introduction.  Forrest  gave  him 
one  to  James  Wallack,  who  was  to  introduce  him 
further  to  "the  elite  of  our  calling."  Harpers  were 
to  send  him  one  to  Bulwer.  James  Lawson,  ever 
the  best  of  friends,  gave  him  a  number, — to  James 
Hogg,  Scott's  friend,  "the  most  remarkable  man 
that  ever  wore  the  maud  of  a  shepherd";  to 
Robert  Chambers  of  the  Edinburgh  Journal;  and  to 
Wilson, ' '  the  Professor. ' '  With  the  letter  to  Wilson 
went  an  admonition.  "Don't  seem  to  care  a 

d about  him.    Talk  of  eating,  drinking,  boxing, 

walking,  fishing,  anything  but  letters.  Let  him 
rather  seek  your  notice  than  you  his.  Manage 
well  and  he  will  grapple  you  to  his  heart. ' '  Another 
was  to  acquaint  him  with  Mrs.  Hemans.  It  is 
pleasant  to  think  of  Bird  on  this  trip,  with  a  past 
of  honor  and  a  future  of  promise,  twenty-eight 
years  old,  and,  as  his  passport  has  it,  five  feet 
eleven  inches  tall,  high  forehead,  light  eyes  and 
hair,  and  a  fair  full  face,  sailing  off  to  England  on 
the  Pocahontas  with  Captain  West,  April  18,  1834. 
Dr.  Bird  arrived  at  Liverpool  May  I3th,  he 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  83 

wrote  to  his  mother,  *  *  after  a  short  but  very  bois 
terous  passage  of  only  sixteen  days  from  land  to 
land,  though  of  twenty-two  from  city  to  city,  owing 
to  four  days  detention  in  the  Delaware  and  two 
in  the  Irish  Channel."  After  a  short  sight -seeing 
tour  through  Chester,  the  Welsh  mountains, 
"Shakespeare's  den,"  the  school  cotes  of  Oxford, 
and  Windsor,  he  settled  in  London  at  No.  3  Adam 
Street ,  Adelphi ,  May  2 5th .  "My  lodging  house , ' ' 
he  writes,  "is  within  one  hundred  feet  of  the 
Thames,  my  windows  look  on  it;  a  fine  terrace, 
some  forty  or  fifty  above  the  water,  runs  along  it 
for  about  a  square.  From  that  terrace,  I  can  see 
on  the  left  hand,  St.  Paul's;  on  the  right,  West 
minster  Abbey;  without  counting  a  brace  of  stone 
bridges  with  twelve  or  fifteen  high  arches  each,  or 
towers  and  steeples  in  abundance."  Thus  com 
fortably  quartered,  Bird  went  about  the  business 
for  which  he  had  primarily  come,  an  English  edi 
tion  of  Calavar,  and  here  it  was  that  he  met  with  a 
rebuff  that  ever  afterward  cooled  his  feelings  for 
English  publishers,  and  to  an  extent,  for  English 
authors.  The  situation  seems  to  have  been  this. 
English  publishers  of  the  day  would  not  pay  any 
thing  for  the  first  work  of  an  unknown  author. 
They  would,  however,  accept  it  for  nothing,  and 
publish  it.  If  the  first  was  successful,  a  second 
work  would  command  a  fair  price.  As  Bird  wrote 
to  the  Misses  Mayer,  "After  all  my  modest  un 
assuming  hopes  to  make  a  fortune  out  of  the  Lon 
doners,  they  bid  very  fair  to  out-Herod  Herod,  or 


84  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

what  is  the  same  thing,  to  out-Yankee  Yankee. 
In  other  words,  as  I  begin  to  have  the  comfortable 
assurance  they  will  have  Calavar  from  me  for 
nothing,  or  not  have  him  at  all.  I  hear  on  all 
hands  how  necessary  it  is  that  an  author  should 
sacrifice  his  first  work,  especially  a  foreign  one; 
and  I  begin  to  perceive  that  I  must  fall  into  ranks 
and  do  as  my  betters  have  done  before  me.  This 
seems  a  pretty  state  of  things,  indeed,  that  an 
author  should  give  a  bookseller  one  book  for  the 
privilege  of  selling  him  a  second;  but  this  is  the 
misfortune  of  being  unknown,  as  is  unfortunately 
my  case.  Among  the  herd  of  scribblers  in  Great 
Britain,  notoriety  is  the  only  mark  of  genius  for  a 
bookseller ;  none  of  these  brain  merchants  will  keep 
a  neophyte  on  pay  while  he  is  creeping  up  hill. 
But  there  is  this  satisfaction  in  store,  that  after 
he  is  up  hill,  he  can  make  the  rascals  pay  the. back 
account.  This  is  my  hope.  "  He  consulted  Bulwer 
on  the  matter,  who  ' '  swears  first  works  are  always 
sacrificed."1 

It  was  not  alone  his  treatment  from  the  book- 
trade  that  caused  a  smart.  At  the  time  of  Bird's 
visit  to  England  Sir  Edward  Lytton  Bulwer  was 
the  literary  dictator.  He  was  the  popular  favorite, 
* '  the  prince  of  living  novelists. ' '  Bulwer  had  early 
perceived  the  revolution  in  taste  and  had  dispensed 
with  the  hero  of  action  for  ' '  the  hero  of  observation 
and  reflection,  who  did  not  do  great  things,  but 
who  said  good  things.  The  sentimental  dandies 

1  Dr.  Bird  to  Miss  Mary  Mayer,  June  25,  1834. 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  85 

and  high-toned  villains  of  Bulwer's  earlier  novels 
captivated  all  hearts."1  Bird  met  Bulwer,  had 
an  interview,  and  ostensibly  by  arrangement  sub 
mitted  for  judgment  the  whole  first  volume  of 
Calavar.  After  a  suitable  time  and  no  reply  was 
forthcoming,  a  request  for  the  return  of  the  manu 
script  was  made;  but  again  no  reply  was  returned. 
Among  Bird's  papers,  I  find  three  drafts  of  a 
second  request  dated  July  7,  1834,  varying  in  tone 
from  polite  disgust  to  bitterest  sarcasm.  To  which 
ever  was  sent,  Bulwer  replied  as  follows : 

SIR, 

I  am  very  sorry  that  my  absence  from  the  city 
has  occasioned  so  much  inconvenience  to  you 
relative  to  your  work.  I  much  regret  that  what 
with  the  illness  of  one  of  my  family  and  an  un 
usual  pressure  of  affairs,  I  have  not  been  able  to 
give  any  detailed  inspection  to  your  Ms.  But 
as  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  go,  I  have  been  much 
struck  with  the  force  and  vigour  of  the  style  and 
I  do  not  doubt  that  if  the  whole  resembles  the 
part,  it  will  do  you  much  credit  in  the  publica 
tion.  Had  we  both  had  more  time  to  spare  I 
would  have  read  it  thro'  more  carefully  and 
expressed  my  opinion  more  critically. 
Yr.  ably, 

E.  L.  BULWER.  2 

To  one  whose  patience  was  already  tried,  this  letter 
contained  additional  cause  for  offense, — the  delay, 

1  Lounsbury,  Cooper,  pp.  124-5. 

2  This  letter  is  among  the  Bird  MSS.  in  the  Library  of  the  Uni 
versity  of  Pennsylvania. 


86  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

the  partial  reading,  the  indifference,  the  moderate 
praise  of  the  style.  It  is  not  surprising  that  Bird 
decided  to  return  to  America  at  once  "instead  of 
living  here  expensively  and  largely  for  the  good 
of  the  trade."  Accordingly  he  took  passage  on  the 
Carroll  of  Carrollton  with  his  brother  Capt.  Thomas 
Jefferson  Bird,  sailing  from  Liverpool  July  20,  1834. 
The  reception  of  Calavar,  if  cool  at  the  hands  of 
English  bookmen,  at  home  was  cordial  and  appre 
ciative.  Within  a  year  of  its  issue  a  first  edition 
had  sold.  The  reviewers,  without  exception, 
praised  it  warmly.  Poe  in  one  of  his  articles 
pronounced  it  "beyond  doubt  one  of  the  best 
American  novels."  "We  do  not  scruple,"  ran  The 
Baltimore  Gazette, ' '  to  pronounce  it  superior  to  any 
thing  of  the  kind  which  has  yet  emanated  from  the 
American  press."  The  Knickerbocker  Magazine 
said  of  it,  "We  shall  be  exceedingly  mistaken  if  the 
work  does  not  place  the  author  in  the  very  highest 
rank  among  the  writers  of  America."  Others 
more  enthusiastic  could  be  given.  In  any  case 
Dr.  Bird  was  encouraged  to  proceed  rapidly  with 
another,  and  in  May,  1835,  appeared  The  Infidel, 
or  The  Fall  of  Mexico. 

Among  the  first  to  read  The  Infidel  was  Bird's 
friend  James  Lawson.  He  wrote  to  Dr.  Bird  a 
frank  critique  which  is  of  first  interest  in  the  light 
of  Bird's  reply.  Juan  and  Magdalena,  Lawson 
thought,  were  too  passive.  The  Infidel  King  and 
his  beautiful  sister  are  fine  creations,  but  our  sym 
pathies  are  not  sufficiently  awakened  in  their  fate; 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  87 

we  do  not  weep  over  the  fall  of  the  Infidel  City. 
And,  then,  too,  there  might  have  been  more  action. 
"Of  a  tragedy,  so  of  a  novel,"  runs  Lawson's  letter, 
"action,  action,  action  is  the  first  and  last  in 
gredient."1     These  points  Bird  thus  meets,  in  a 
carefully  written   draft  of  a  reply:  "Your  stric 
tures  on  The  Infidel,  especially  the  approbatory 
ones,  are  very  just.     But  that  confounded  sym 
pathy  of  yours  I  do  not  understand.     I  did  not 
want  to  make  anybody  'weep '  over  the  fall  of  the 
Mexicans.     All  I  desired  was  to  illustrate  their 
heroic  resistance  at  their  altars  and  their  fires  of 
a  scoundrelly  foe,  whom  I  desired  to  paint  in  his 
true  colors  also;  as  I  think  I  have  done.     The 
character  of  Juan  I  meant  to  be  'passive.'      In 
fact,  I  was  drawing  the  character  of  a  dog  I  knew 
once  who  was  a  very  fine  Christian -like  animal, 
for  all  the  hard  treatment  he  had.    You  certainly 
are  wrong  about  the  'action.,  action,  action'  being 
as  necessary  in  a  novel  as  in  a  play.    The  deepest 
interest  can  be  drawn  from  the  sufferings  of  in 
dividuals  incapable  of  resisting  their  fate,   and 
even  when  they  attempt  no  resistance.     Such  is 
found  in   The  Bride  of  Lammermoor,  where  the 
heroine  is  wax  and  the  hero  lead,  clay,  water,  or 
anything.    And  that  fiction,  if  you  will  take  my 
word  for  it,  is  the  most  interesting  and  deeply 
affecting  ever  penned  by  the  hand  of  man.    The 
actors  do  nothing;  but  how  one's  tears  drop  over 
them; — nay  over  their  memory.     Five  minutes 
1  Lawson  to  Bird,  May  26,  1835. 


88  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

musing  over  the  recollection  of  that  story  incapaci 
tates  me  for  writing  a  day ;  reading  it  robs  me  of  all 
power  of  composition  for  a  week.  However,  I 
know  it  is  needful  to  make  a  grand  crash  in  every 
tenth  chapter  of  my  fiddle-de-dees;  and  my  up- 
Delaware  book  shall  have  at  least  one  roaring 
piece  of  big  figure  in  it."1 

The  story  of  Calavar  terminates  on  the  field  of 
Otumba  after  the  expulsion  of  the  Spaniards  from 
Mexico.  That  of  The  Infidel  starts  at  the  period 
when  Cortes,  receiving  a  new  commission  from 
Charles  the  Fifth  and  a  great  accession  of  Spanish 
troops  and  allies,  returns  to  commence  the  league 
that  ends  in  the  fall  of  Mexico.  The  individual 
history  of  Juan  Lerma,  deftly  woven  in  with  the 
real  events  of  the  siege,  constitutes  the  fable. 
From  the  same  quarry  as  Calavar,  The  Infidel 
shows  no  signs  of  imitation  or  exhaustion.  It  is 
as  full,  striking,  picturesque;  and  with  even  more 
passion  and  feeling.  For  a  narrative  description 
of  unsurpassed  interest  one  need  only  mention 
the  account  of  Guzman's  ordeal  on  the  warrior's 
stone.  To  this  stone,  called  the  Temalacatl,  now 
lying  in  the  Plaza  Mayor  of  the  modern  city,  cap 
tives  of  excelling  prowess  were  bound  by  one  foot 
and  forced  to  fight  to  the  death  six  native  warriors, 
after  which,  if  they  survived,  they  were  freed  and 
sent  home.  The  characterization  deserves  mention 
in  one  respect.  Cortes  himself  is  a  leading  charac 
ter.  And  the  important  part  he  takes  gives  ample 

1  Bird  to  Lawson,  June  i,  1835. 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  89 

opportunity  for  the  display  of  the  author's  powers 
in  that  most  difficult  department  of  historical 
novel  writing,  the  correct  delineation  of  real 
people.  The  character  of  Cortes,  drawn  from 
authentic  data  by  Bird,  is  that  by  which  posterity 
perhaps  can  best  know  him.  It  bears  the  stamp  of 
actuality  and  truth.  The  book  contains  an  array, 
too  large,  perhaps,  of  big  characters, — Guatimazin, 
Cortes,  Guzman,  Lerma,  Lord  of  Death,  Magda- 
lena,  Zellahualla.  As  with  Calavar  the  plot  of 
The  Infidel  is  almost  confusingly  tangled  and  in 
tricate.  The  solution  draws  on  relationships  that 
run  back  to  a  previous  generation,  and  are  un 
known  or  have  dropped  from  memory.  Thus  it  is 
with  Camarja's  strange  relations  with  Juan  and 
Magdalena,  and  theirs  with  Cortes. 

The  Infidel  sold  rather  better  than  Calavar  and 
in  August  of  1835 — it  appeared  in  May — Carey, 
Lea  &  Company  announced  a  second  edition  to 
meet  the  demand.  And  yet  the  sale  was  not  in 
step  with  the  merit  of  the  book.  The  reason  Law- 
son  hits  on  in  that  same  letter:  "Twixt  you  and 
me, "  he  said,  "I  am  not  sorry  you  are  done  with 
Mexico.  I  fear  the  novel-reading  world  do  not 
feel  the  same  interest  in  the  semi-civilized  portion 
of  our  hemisphere,  which  you  entertain.  We  want 
something,  though  not  exactly  at  our  doors,  yet 
near  us."  The  justness  of  this  critique  Bird  ac 
knowledged.  "You  are  right  about  my  Mexican 
subjects;  they  are  too  far-offish  and  Hebraic  for 
our  Johnny  Raws  of  the  States,  who  know  and 


90  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

care  as  little  about  Mexico  as  they  do  about  the 
moon.  My  success  in  them  has  been  nothing  to 
compare  with  Simms's,  which  I  esteem  quite  ex 
traordinary:  I  feel  very  envious  about  him,  but 
not  in  a  malicious  way."  While  still  occupied 
with  the  proof  sheets  of  The  Infidel,  Dr.  Bird  was 
also  engaged  on  the  ' ' Up-Delaware  book"  which 
appeared  in  September,  1835,  as  The  Hawks  of 
Hawk  Hollow,  A  Tradition  of  Pennsylvania. 

In  this  story  Bird  heeded  Lawson's  advice  and 
laid  the  scene  near  his  own  doorsill  in  the  Delaware 
valley  at  the  beautiful  Water  Gap,  whither  as  a 
medical  student  with  Dr.  Black  and  John  Grimes 
he  often  went  to  camp  and  sketch.  The  story  of 
the  young  painter  and  his  chums,  and  of  course  the 
novel's  setting  are  built  on  these  early  experiences. 
The  story  takes  us  back  to  1760  and  concerns  an 
English  family  by  the  name  of  Gilbert,  who  had 
settled  in  the  valley  near  the  Gap,  its  disintegra 
tion  through  the  mysterious  death  of  the  only 
daughter,  in  which  Colonel  Falconer,  the  present 
occupant  of  the  Manor,  was  questionably  im 
plicated,  the  revenge  by  the  sons  of  Gilbert,  known 
throughout  the  section  for  their  desperate  charac 
ter  as  the  Hawks  of  Hawk  Hollow.  Woven  in  is 
the  love  story  of  Hyland  Gilbert,  who  proves  to  be 
no  other  than  the  legitimate  son  of  Colonel  Fal 
coner  and  his  early  lost  bride,  Jessie  Gilbert.  One 
is  reminded  in  reading  The  Hawks  of  Hawk 
Hollow  of  a  letter  to  Bird  from  Nathaniel  Parker 
Willis,  to  whom  Bird  sent  a  set  of  his  books.  "I 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  91 

wonder  in  reading  these, ' '  it  runs,  ' '  how  you  could 
afford  to  put  so  much  material  into  a  book.  You 
see  I  look  at  it  with  an  author's  eye. ' ' *  The  plot  is 
bewilderingly  complex.  There  is  a  hurry  and  rush 
of  episode.  Again  the  assortment  of  big  characters 
is  ampler  perhaps  than  the  needs  of  one  story, — 
Colonel  Falconer,  a  hard,  unemotional,  dominating 
man  with  a  past ;  Harriet  Falconer,  a  daughter  of 
her  father;  Hyland  Gilbert,  a  highbred  lad  with  a 
heart  of  honor  and  the  instincts  of  a  gentleman; 
Oran  Gilbert,  "rough,  unswayable,  and  free"; 
Catharine  Loring,  feminine,  amiable,  lovely.  Poe 
found  in  the  books  all  sorts  of  flaws  and  beauties. 
"Its  style,  as  we  commonly  use  the  word,  is  at 
least  equal  to  that  of  any  American  writer  whatso 
ever."  Its  un evenness  of  course  struck  him. 
"Some  portions  of  the  book,  we  surmise,  were 
either  not  written  by  Dr.  Bird  or  were  written  by 
him  in  moments  of  the  most  utter  mental  exhaus 
tion,  "  a  condition  Poe  must  have  shared  while 
writing  the  review.  "  It  is  in  many  respects  a  bad 
imitation  of  Sir  Walter  Scott."  In  the  next  sen 
tence  Poe  continues,  "Some  of  its  characters  and 
one  or  two  of  its  incidents  have  seldom  been  sur 
passed,  for  force,  fidelity  to  nature,  and  power  of 
exciting  interest  in  the  reader."  Be  this  as  it  may, 
its  demand  showed  a  steady  appreciation.  By 
May  of  1836,  seven  months  after  its  issue,  the 
first  statement  from  Carey  &  Lea  records  a  sale 
of  1860  copies. 

1  Willis  to  Bird,  letter  undated. 


92  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

In  the  fall  of  1835  Bird  took  another  short 
jaunt  through  the  Middle  West,  leaving  by  way  of 
Virginia.  On  September  24th  he  writes  from 
Guyandotte,  Virginia:  "I  am  in  a  little  village  in 
the  extreme  N.  W.  corner  of  the  Cohee  land,  150  m. 
from  Cincinnati,  and  about  170  from  Lexington, 
Ky. ;  whitherward  I  hope  to  be  able  to  proceed  in  a 
steamboat  to-morrow. ' '  On  October  6th  he  writes 
from  Three  Forks,  Ky. :  ' '  Here  I  am  within  seven 
miles  of  the  Mammoth  Cave,  and  with  my  old 
friend  Grimes  taking  a  nap  at  my  elbow.  We  are 
going  to  the  cave  to-morrow,  where  we  expect  to  be 
joined  by  one  or  two  other  gentlemen  to  have  a 
time  of  it  caving,  shooting,  and  fishing  together 
for  ten  days  or  two  weeks."  On  October  i6th  he 
writes  from  the  steamboat  Huntress  off  Cincinnati : 
' '  I  am  now  on  the  way  home,  having  visited  the 
Mammoth  Cave,  and  resolved  to  return  by  the 
easiest  route;  for  in  truth  I  am  tired  of  rolling  in 
bad  coaches  over  bad  roads."  The  trip  was  sig 
nificant  for  two  reasons.  Bird  and  Grimes  again 
explored  the  great  cave  to  its  innermost  depths, 
among  the  first  Americans  to  do  so.  This  expedi 
tion  Dr.  Bird  vividly  described  in  a  section  of 
Peter  Pilgrim.  He  also  visited  the  scenes,  we  are 
told,  that  were  to  figure  in  his  next  romance. 
Besides,  it  was  the  last  time  Bird  was  to  see  his 
friend  John  Grimes,  who  died  of  consumption  in 
the  winter  of  1837,  holding  in  his  hand  a  letter  of 
Bird's  to  the  last.  Through  the  rest  of  his  life  the 
name  of  ''Johnny  Grimes"  was  Bird's  strongest 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  93 

synonym   for   unselfishness  and    perfect    friend 
ship. 

In  August  of  1836  came  the  anonymous  work 
entitled  Sheppard  Lee,  published  by  Harpers. 
The  book  was  so  entirely  unlike  any  that  Bird  had 
done  hitherto  that  John  Frost,  his  close  friend, 
wrote  to  him  as  follows : 

PHILA.,  Feb.  2,  1836. 

DEAR  BIRD, 

M'Clellen  has  taken  up  an  absurd  notion  that 
you  are  the  author  of  a  book  called  Sheppard 
Lee  published  in  New  York  last  summer.  He 
came  to  me  full  of  his  discovery  last  night  expect 
ing  to  find  that  I  knew  something  about  it. 
Knowing  that  you  would  be  amazed  at  such  an 
imputation  and  believing  that  he  would  had 
you  to  suspect  if  possible  that  I  had  counte 
nanced  the  [idea]  I  write  to  clear  myself  of  even 
giving  the  slightest  intimation  to  that  effect  to 
him  or  any  one  living.  I  would  come  to  you 
but  I  am  lame  and  so  write. 

Yours  truly, 
J.  FROST. 

Bird's  reply,  if  he  wrote  one,  has  not  been  found , 
but  there  must  have  been  an  amusing  confession 
and  absolution  when  they  met,  as  their  warm 
friendship  suffered  no  interruption. 

Sheppard  Lee  might  -be  called  a  psychological 
novel.  It  recounts  a  series  of  mental  and  bodily 
states  through  which  Sheppard  Lee,  a  New  Jersey 
farmer  and  an  acute  hypochondriac,  mysteriously 
passes.  Disappointed  in  love  and  forced  through 


94  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

mismanagement  to  forfeit  the  family  estate,  he 
goes  to  a  near-by  graveyard  and  proceeds  to  dig  for 
a  mysterious  treasure.  He  strikes  rock  with  such 
force  as  to  precipitate  a  trance  from  which  his  soul 
insensibly  emerges  into  the  body  of  John  Hazle- 
wood  Higginson,  an  influential  colonel.  He  is 
driven  in  a  splendid  barouche  to  the  Higginson 
house  in  Philadelphia,  Chestnut  St.,  south  side, 
etc.,  and  installed  into  all  that  went  with  it,— 
servants,  the  gout,  and  a  nagging,  perverse  Mrs. 
Higginson.  With  the  gout  and  a  shrew  on  his 
hands,  the  poor  chap  pardonably  thinks  of  suicide. 
He  gradually  makes  the  acquaintance  of  his  aristo 
cratic  neighbors,  among  others,  Mr.  Periwinckle 
Smith,  whose  charming  daughter  is  the  cause  of 
insomnia  to  a  polished  dandy  by  the  name  of 
Isaac  Dulwer  Dawkins,  Esq.  Driven  to  frenzy 
by  envy  and  hardship,  he  resolves  upon  jumping 
into  the  Schuylkill,  goes  to  its  banks  for  the  pur 
pose,  but  beholds  I.  Dulwer  Dawkins  already  there 
on  the  same  errand.  He  recovers  the  body  and 
regains  consciousness  to  find  himself  the  very 
same  I.  Dulwer  Dawkins,  Esq.  He  becomes  full 
possessor  of  his  character  and  effects, — beauty, 
dash,  scores  of  admiring  ladies,  plenty  of  poor 
relatives,  and  debts  by  the  hundreds.  He  is  en 
tangled  in  countless  intrigues,  but  finally  marries 
Alicia  Skinner,  the  miller's  daughter,  when — the 
worse  luck  of  all ! — he  suddenly  inhabits  the  corpse 
of  her  father,  Abram  Skinner,  a  soured,  tricky 
pawnbroker  with  a  rebellious  daughter.  From 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  95 

such  a  despicable  carcass  the  soul  of  Sheppard  Lee 
devoutly  implores  release.  He  looks  about  for  a 
desirable  corpse  and  finds  that  of  a  philanthropic 
Quaker,  Zachariah  Longstraw.  Three  further 
abodes  the  wandering  soul  of  Lee  occupies,  when 
at  last  he  imagines  himself  a  cadaver  under  the 
scalpel  of  a  German  student,  Dr.  Feuertaufel. 
This  scares  him  back  into  sanity ;  he  flees ;  nor  does 
he  stop  until  he  has  reached  his  old  Jersey  farm, 
which  his  relatives  have  been  good  enough  to 
reserve  for  him.  Here  he  shakes  off  his  hypo 
chondria  and  finds  himself  once  more  Sheppard 
Lee. 

Sheppard  Lee  is,  as  Poe  put  it,  "a  very  clever 
and  not  altogether  unoriginal  jeu  d' esprit."  Its 
incidents  are  well  conceived,  and  related  with 
force,  brevity,  and  a  directness  admirably  suited 
to  such  narratives.  Poe,  a  master  hand  at  such 
narrative,  found  fault  with  ' '  the  conception  of  the 
metempsychosis.  He  (Bird)  conceives  his  hero 
endowed  with  some  idiosyncrasy  beyond  the 
common  lot  of  human  nature  and  thus  introduces 
him  to  a  series  of  adventures  which  under  ordinary 
circumstances  could  occur  only  to  a  plurality  of 
persons.  The  chief  source  of  interest  in  such  a 
narrative  is  or  should  be  the  contrasting  of  these 
varied  events  in  their  influence  upon  a  character 
unchanging — except  as  changed  by  the  events 
themselves."  Poe  further  thought  it  a  mistake  to 
leave  the  reader  at  the  end  with  the  impression 
that  the  whole  is  a  dream.  His  own  method,  Poe 


96  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

thought,  would  have  been  better  i.e.,  ''avoiding 
.  .  .  that  directness  of  expression  which  we  have 
noticed  in  Sheppard  Lee  and  thus  leaving  much  to 
the  imagination  ...  in  short,  by  making  use  of 
the  infinity  of  arts  which  give  verisimilitude  to  a 
narration — and  by  leaving  the  result  as  a  wonder 
not  to  be  accounted  for."  Finally,  it  is  to  be 
noticed,  the  hand  of  the  physician  is  plainly  ob 
servable.  Doctors  play  a  prominent  part.  The 
effects  of  mental  derangement, — the  fear,  the 
harping  on  one  thing,  the  excitement,  the  night 
mare,  are  analyzed  with  the  technical  insight  of  a 
physician.  Sheppard  Lee  received  from  the  press 
the  most  favorable  notices,  but  never  enjoyed  a 
large  sale.  Its  first  edition  appeared  when  the 
book  trade,  on  account  of  hard  times,  was  in  a 
most  depressed  condition.  Its  publishers  issued  a 
second  edition  with  the  revival  of  business,  which, 
however,  sold  hardly  better  than  the  first ;  and  as 
late  as  1839  they  were  negotiating  with  Lea  & 
Blanchard  to  dispose  of  their  interest  in  the  stereo 
type  plates  of  Sheppard  Lee  and  the  printed  copies 
on  hand. 

In  March  of  1837  Dr.  Bird's  most  successful 
story,  Nick  of  the  Woods,  was  published  by  Lea  & 
Blanchard.  The  suggestion  for  the  story,  it  is  to 
be  recalled,  Bird  had  received  many  years  before 
from  his  Kentucky  friend  Dr.  Black  while  they 
were  together  on  a  stroll.  On  his  western  trips 
he  visited  the  scenes  of  the  story  and  gathered 
further  material.  The  characters  in  some  instances 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  97 

were  built  on  actual  people.     Ralph  Stackpole, 
Bird  tells  us  in  the  preface,  "is  no  portrait  drawn 
from  imagination.    The  history  of  this  wild  scape- 
gallows,  his  prowess  in  the  pinfold  and  the  battle 
field,  his  adventure  in  the  beech  tree,  and  his 
escape  from  the  meshes  of  the  law,  with  other 
characteristic  events  not  included  in  our  relation, 
are  recollections  still  cherished  in  some  parts  of 
Kentucky,  and  made  the  theme  of  many  a  glee- 
some  story."     The  story  of  Wandering  Nathan 
"has  a  similar  foundation  in  truth;  but  its  origin 
belongs  to  one  of  the  western  counties  of  Pennsyl 
vania.  ' '    Here  was  a  legend  sufficiently  near  home 
to  hold  the  interest,  sufficiently  strange  to  stir 
curiosity.     It  delineated  that  most  picturesque 
character  which  both   Cooper  and   Simms  had 
drawn  on  effectively, — the  American  Indian.    But 
how  differently  each  conceived  him!    Cooper,  of 
course,  has  idealized  the  Indian  in  such  characters 
as  Uncas  and  Chingachgook.    Simms  had  studied 
him  through  books  and  observation  as  well,  and 
has  given  us  perhaps  the  truest  picture.     "From 
the  day,"  says  Professor  Trent,  his  biographer, 
' '  when  he  saw  scores  of  drunken  and  naked  Creeks 
lying  about  the  streets  of   Mobile,  he  was  thor 
oughly  alive  to  their  vices ;  but  from  the  time  of  his 
sojourns  in  both  Creek  and   Cherokee  'Nations' 
he  had  also  been  fully  conscious  of  their  many 
undeniable    virtues."      Bird    paints    the    Indian 
frankly  and  unreservedly  in  the  darkest  colors. 
He  confessed  himself  quite  unable  to  share  the 


98  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

kindly  view  of  the  Indian  held  by  other  writers. 
Chateaubriand,  Cooper,  Marmontel  throw  a  poeti 
cal  illusion,  he  thought,  over  the  Indian  character. 
He  drew  them  as  in  his  judgment  they  existed, — 
"ignorant,  violent,  debased,  brutal."  Further 
more,  he  resented  the  opinion  expressed  by  Mr. 
W.  H.  Ainsworth  in  his  English  edition  of  Nick  of 
the  Woods  that  the  book  was  designed  to  inflame 
the  whites  against  the  Indians,  or  to  justify  the 
encroachments  by  the  whites  on  Indian  territory. 
"We  confess,"  he  says  in  a  prefatory  statement, 
"the  North  American  savage  has  never  appeared 
to  us  the  gallant  and  heroic  personage  he  seems  to 
others.  The  fact  that  he  wages  war — systematic 
war — upon  beings  incapable  of  resistance  or  defense 
— upon  women  and  children,  whom  all  other  races 
in  the  world,  no  matter  how  barbarous,  consent  to 
spare,  has  hitherto  been,  and  we  suppose  to  the 
end  of  our  days  will  remain,  a  stumbling-block  to 
our  imagination;  we  look  into  the  woods  for  the 
mighty  warrior,  the  'feather  cinctured  chief,' 
rushing  to  meet  his  foe  and  behold  him  retiring 
laden  with  the  scalps  of  miserable  squaws  and  their 
babes.  Heroical?  Hoc  verbum  quid  valeat,  non 
vicent." 

Rapidly  as  Bird's  novels  succeeded  one  another, 
he  found  time  also  to  write  for  the  magazines  which 
were  springing  up  in  America  during  the  first  half 
of  the  century  with  the  utmost  variety  and  pro 
fusion.  A  strong  sectional  feeling  throughout  the 
States  tended  to  multiply  the  number.  Most  of 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  99 

them,  modeled  on  the  English  literary  journals, — 
Blackwood's,  Frazer's,  The  Edinburgh  Review, — had 
high  ambitions  and  were  incessant  in  their  requests 
upon  men  like  Dr.  Bird,  whose  romances  had 
brought  him  impressively  before  the  public.  Be 
sides,  Bird  numbered  among  his  friends  W.  Gay- 
lord  and  L.  Gaylord  Clark,  James  Lawson, 
Thomas  Cottrel  Clarke,  Charles  Fenno  Hoffman, 
Samuel  A.  Howe,  N.  C.  Brooks,  and  others.  It 
was  inevitable  that  he  should  sooner  or  later  be 
concerned  with  the  periodical,  as  contributor  or 
owner.  Bird's  juvenile  pieces  in  Snowden's  have 
already  been  noticed.  Early  in  the  thirties  Louis 
A.  Godey,  who  in  July  of  1830  had  founded  his 
popular  Lady's  Book,  asked  Bird  for  articles,  or  if 
he  had  none  on  hand  "to  hammer  me  out  of  one 
of  your  solid  pieces  about  twenty-five  dollars'  worth 
of  Literature."  In  January  of  1834  appeared  a 
new  periodical  edited  by  Henry  Vethake,  Esq., 
called  The  United  States  Review.  It  was  a  quar 
terly  of  some  250  pages  and  was  to  be  concerned, 
ran  the  Prospectus,  with  "the  exploits  of  the  his 
torian,  the  orator,  and  the  poet  rather  than  with 
those  of  the  mathematician . ' '  For  the  first  number 
Bird  was  asked  to  write  an  article  on  '  *  Reviewing, ' ' 
and  to  become  a  regular  contributor.  Of  course 
numerous  bits  of  verse,  struck  off,  his  wife  tells  us, 
in  moments  of  relaxation,  appeared  from  time  to 
time.  In  March  of  1 834  ' '  The  Beech  Tree,"  a  lyric, 
appeared  in  the  New  York  Mirror;  in  January,  1835, 
"The  China  Tree,"  another,  in  Knickerbockers; 


ioo  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

in  February,  1835,  in  the  New  England  Magazine 
"To  Governor  M'Duffie,"  an  occasional  poem  de 
nouncing  the  Governor  of  South  Carolina  who  in 
the  nullification  squabble  called  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States  "that  miserable  mockery  of 
blurred  and  obliterated  and  tattered  parchment. ' ' 
"An  Evening  Ode"  appeared  in  Knickerbocker's, 
February,  1 835 ;  "An  Address, ' '  an  occasional  poem 
at  the  Wood  Complimentary  Benefit,  in  The 
National  Gazette,  January,  1836.  Poe  had  for 
some  time  desired  Bird  to  contribute  to  the 
Southern  Literary  Messenger.  Other  duties  made 
it  impossible  for  Bird  to  comply.  In  consequence 
Poe  repeated  his  request. 

RICHMOND,  VA., 
June  7,  1836. 

DR.  SIR, 

I  take  the  liberty  of  again  addressing  you, 
and  of  calling  your  attention  to  what  was  not 
precisely  a  promise  on  your  part,  but  a  kind  of 
demi-promise  made  some  months  ago,  in  rela 
tion  to  an  article  for  our  Southern  Literary 
Messenger.  It  would  be  indeed,  a  matter  of 
sincere  congratulation  with  us,  if,  by  any  means 
within  our  power,  we  could  so  far  interest  you 
in  our  behalf  as  to  obtain  something  from  the 
author  of  Calavar.  We  have,  just  at  this 
moment,  a  conspiracy  on  foot,  and  we  would  be 
most  happy  to  engage  you  in  our  plans.  We 
wish,  if  possible,  to  take  the  public  opinion  by 
storm  in  a  single  number  of  The  Messenger  which 
shall  contain  a  series  of  articles  from  all  the  first 
pens  in  the  land.  Can  you  not  aid  us — with  a 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  101 

single  page  if  no  more?    I  will  trust  to  the  chival- 
ric  spirit  of  him  who  wrote  The  Infidel  for  a  reply. 
With  the  highest  respect, 

Yr.  ob.  st. 
DR.  ROBERT  M.  BIRD.  EDGAR  A,  POE? 

'  I    *,   •      C        *,    » 

One  article  contributed  by  Dr.  "Bird^to  <Kipjf,ker-t 
backer's  in  October,  1835,  is  of  significance  in  the 
history  of  international  copyright.  It  is  entitled 
"  Community  of  Copy-Right  Between  the  United 
States  and  Great  Britian."  After  a  short  state 
ment  of  the  injustice  of  the  world  to  authors  and 
inventors  generally,  he  takes  occasion  to  score  the 
copyright  laws  then  in  force  in  America.  The  act 
of  the  third  of  February,  1831,  he  points  out,  ex 
tends  the  privileges  of  copyright '  *  to  any  person  or 
persons,  being  a  citizen  or  citizens  of  the  United 
States,  or  resident  therein,  who  shall  be  the  author 
or  authors  of  any  book  or  books,"  etc.,  and  to  no 
others.  "To  be  a  citizen,  or  a  resident  of  the 
United  States,  is  therefore  essential,  by  law,  to  the 
enjoyment  of  the  privilege.  The  restriction  is 
positive,  and  peculiar  to  America,  which,  in  it, 
excels  all  other  governments  in  rapacity  and  mean 
ness."  From  the  provision,  he  thought,  a  twofold 
injustice  results.  In  the  first  place  British  authors 
received  no  returns  whatever  from  the  sale  of  their 
books  in  this  country.  "Walter  Scott  never  re 
ceived  a  cent  on  the  sale  of  his  works  in  America,  " 

1  This  letter  is  in  the  Archives  of  the  Historical  Society  of 
Pennsylvania,  Philadelphia.  For  a  list  of  Dr.  Bird's  contribu 
tions  to  the  magazines  see  Appendix  B. 


102  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

although  New  York  did  raise  a  subscription,  it  was 
said,  of  sixty  thousand  dollars  "to  rescue  Abbots- 
ford  from  the  hands  of  the  creditors,  and  secure  it 
to  the  heirs  of  the  great  novelist."  By  far  the 
greater -hardship,  however,  was  wrought  upon  the 
American  author.  Paying  nothing  to  the  British 
an^ho*,  the.  American  publisher  selected  what 
foreign  works  he  chose,  and  issued  them  at  a 
very  low  price,  content  to  receive  the  bookseller's 
profit.  An  American  work,  on  the  other  hand, 
had  to  bring  a  price  which  secured  a  remuneration 
to  the  author  as  well  as  the  publisher.  In  conse 
quence  the  former  invariably  undersold  the  latter. 
As  Dr.  Bird  put  it,  "It  is  indeed  egregious  non 
sense  to  expect  an  American  book  to  leave  the 
bookseller's  shelves,  when  an  English  reprint  lies 
by  it,  of  equal  merit  and  one  half  the  price."  The 
burden  of  the  article  in  brief  was  that  the  act  of 
1831,  purified  by  the  removal  of  the  clause  above 
quoted,  "would  be  tantamount  in  effect  to  the 
passage  of  an  international  copyright  law  betwixt 
America  and  Great  Britain." 

As  a  consequence  of  this  article,  in  part  at  least, 
Dr.  Bird  received  the  following  letter  from  Harriet 
Martineau,  urging  his  aid  in  pushing  a  petition 
regarding  international  copyright.  It  was  accom 
panied  by  a  petition,  which  incorporated  many  of 
Bird's  views  and,  it  seems,  specifically  referred  to  a 
portion  of  the  Knickerbocker  article. x 

1  The  petition  in  part  ran  as  follows:  "American  authors  are 
injured  by  the  non-existence  of  the  desired  law.  While  American 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  103 

LONDON,  Novbr.  8,  1836. 
DEAR  SIR, 

This  petition  tells  its  own  story, — except  that 
you  do  not  see  the  signatures.  It  is  very  illus 
triously  signed.  We  hope  the  names  of  Broug 
ham,  Wordsworth,  and  Miss  Edgeworth  will  be 
at  the  top. 

The  Americans  in  London  urge  that  the 
Authors  of  the  United  States  shd.  petition  Con 
gress, — both  houses, — to  the  same  effect,  at  the 
same  time :  I  have  written  to  most  of  my  literary 
friends,  to  rouse  them  to  this.  If  it  could  be 
done,  we  should  we  are  told  pretty  certainly 
have  the  desired  law  this  session.  You  see  how 
close  an  interest  you  Amern.  authors  have  in  our 
property  not  being  stolen  to  enrich  the  book 
sellers  and  lessen  the  value  of  your  works. 

If  you  can  do  anything  in  this  matter,  I  am 
sure  you  will :  not  making  confidants  of  any  book- 
sellers,  but  communicating  with  brother  and 
sister  authors. 

I  make  no  apology  for  writing  to  you  on  this 
subject :  for  we  each  desire  the  welfare  of  science 

publishers  can  provide  themselves  with  works  for  publication  by 
unjust  appropriation,  instead  of  by  equitable  purchase,  they  are 
under  no  inducement  to  afford  to  American  authors  a  fair  re 
muneration  for  their  labors:  under  which  grievance  American 
authors  have  no  redress  but  in  sending  over  their  works  to  Eng 
land  to  be  published,  an  expedient  which  has  become  an  estab 
lished  practice  with  some  of  whom  their  country  has  most  reason 
,to  be  proud.  .  .  .  Your  petitioners  beg  humbly  to  remind  your 
Honors  of  the  case  of  Walter  Scott,  as  stated  by  an  esteemed 
citizen  of  the  United  States,  that  while  the  works  of  this  author, 
dear  alike  to  your  country  and  to  ours,  were  read  from  Maine  to 
Georgia,  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Mississippi,  he  received  no 
remuneration  from  the  American  public  for  his  labors."  The 
Critic,  April  21,  1888. 


104  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

and  literature;  and  have  each  a  personal  interest 
in  the  passage  of  this  Law.  Believe  me,  dear 
Sir, 

Very  truly  yours, 

HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 
Dr.  BIRD, 
PHILADA.,  PA. 

Notwithstanding  their  cause  was  a  common  one, 
Dr.  Bird  in  a  draft  of  a  reply  to  Miss  Martin eau, 
January  20,  1837,  roundly  attacks  the  petition. 
To  his  mind,  it  was  singularly  injudicious  and  ob 
jectionable;  it  was  too  argumentative  and  exhorta- 
tory ;  it  breathed  a  tone  of  complaint  and  reproach. 
Furthermore,  it  denounced  a  respectable  class  of 
American  citizens,  the  booksellers.  It  made  a 
tactless  reference  to  the  prejudices  of  purchasers 
in  "the  respective  sections  of  the  Union,"  which 
was  an  invasion  of  our  private  concerns.  He 
advises  a  revision  of  the  petition  so  that  it  would 
be  "a  petition  in  fact, — a  simple,  briefly  expressed 
and  dignified  claim  to  a  privilege  which  they  think 
they  should  be  allowed  to  enjoy. ' ' 

Two  other  works  require  mention  with  the 
romances  of  Dr.  Bird.  Peter  Pilgrim,  or  A  Ram 
bler's  Recollections,  published  by  Lea  &  Blanchard 
in  October  of  1838,  is  a  collection  of  tales  and 
experiences  gathered  on  his  trips  through  the 
South  and  West.  Two  of  the  pieces  had  appeared 
in  the  American  Monthly, — "A  Tale  of  the  Snag" 
and  ' '  The  Mammoth  Cave ' ' ;  another, ' '  The  Extra 
Lodger,"  was  published  in  the  New  York  Mirror. 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  105 

The  most  interesting  chapters  of  a  rather  indiffer 
ent  collection  are  those  on  the  Mammoth  Cave. 
Caves  had  long  been  a  special  study  with  Dr.  Bird. 
With  John  Grimes  he  was  among  the  first  to  ex 
plore  this  biggest  of  caves,  and  to  set  forth  an 
accurate  account  of  its  grottoes,  pits,  and  galleries. 
The  rest  of  the  recollections  comprises  a  mis 
cellaneous  collection  of  odds  and  ends.  According 
to  Mrs.  Bird,  Dr.  Bird's  health  had  begun  to 
break  and  he  was  obliged  to  throw  together  his 
materials  for  the  volume  more  hastily  than  was  his 
wont.  The  Adventures  of  Robin  Day,  his  last 
romance,  was  published  in  April,  1839,  and  was 
written  under  stress  of  great  physical  suffering. 
It  is  a  rather  loose-woven  yarn  of  improbable 
adventures.  The  earlier  portion,  however,  is  of 
autobiographical  value ;  and  according  to  his  wife, 
"embodied  a  good  deal  of  his  own  youthful  ex 
perience  at  school."1 

Bird's  romances,  in  America,  brought  a  fair  re 
muneration.  His  precise  returns  it  is,  of  course, 
impossible  to  fix;  but  from  accounts  in  his  own 
hand  and  from  the  semi-annual ' '  statements ' '  from 
his  publishers  some  idea  can  be  had  of  his  income. 
The  following  table  is  based  upon  these  semi 
annual  statements,  and  indicates  the  number  of 

1  Deserving  mention  with  the  romances  of  Dr.  Bird  is  the  frag 
ment  of  an  Indian  story  entitled  Ipsico  Poe,  the  Long  Hunter. 
Bird  stopped  with  chapter  xiv.,  at  which  point  it  was  taken  up 
by  his  son  Frederick  Mayer  Bird,  and  completed.  It  was  pub 
lished  under  the  title  A  Belated  Revenge  in  Lippincott's  Magazine, 
November,  1889. 


io6  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 


copies  sold  and  Bird's  share  of  the  profits,  of  his 
four  chief  romances. 

R.  M.  Bird  in  acct.  with 

Carey  &  Lea,  Lea  &  Blanchard. 

Calavar  (pub.  Oct.,  1834)        Infidel  (pub.  May,  1835) 
Date  of  Statement        No.  sold         Bird's  prof.        No.  sold         Bird's  prof. 


1650.35 

94.42 
14.40 
36.60 


May   7,  1835 

1292 

$356.28 

.... 

Nov.  12,  1835 

303 

161.23 

1551 

May   9,  1836 



Dec.   31,  1836 

442 

174-43 

'308 

Jan.    i,  1838 
March  18,  1839 

234 
278 

25-75 
60.  16 

80 
154 

Hawks  of  Hawk  Hollow 
(pub.  Sept.,  1835) 


Nick  of  the  Woods 
(pub.  March,  1837) 


No.  sold        Bird's  prof.        No.  sold          Bird's  prof. 


i860 
248 
130 
183 


$779-03 
83-90 
26.13 
43-40 


2447 
281 


%  1 150.37 
144.27 


Bird's  novels  were  also  published  in  England  by 
Bentley  and  others,  in  several  cases  with  altered 
titles.  Calavar  was  published  in  four  volumes  in 
J835  by  Newman  &  Co.,  London,  as  Abdalla,  the 
Moor,  and  the  Spanish  Knight.  The  Infidel  ap 
peared  in  a  London  edition  of  three  volumes  in 
1835  as  Cortes:  or  The  Fall  of  Mexico.  The  Hawks 
of  Hawk  Hollow  was  similarly  published  in  1837 
under  its  own  name.  London  editions  of  Peter 
Pilgrim  and  of  Robin  Day,  each  in  two  volumes, 
appeared  in  1839  and  the  most  successful  of  his 
stories,  abroad  as  at  home,  was  Nick  of  the  Woods, 
which  first  appeared  in  London  in  three  volumes  in 


A  PROLIFIC  NOVELIST  107 

1837,  edited  by  W.  H.  Ainsworth.  It  ran  through 
a  number  of  editions  and  was  translated  into 
German, — Die  Gefahren  der  Wildnis.  Eine  Erzah- 
lung  fur  die  reifere  Jugend.  Nach  dem  Englis- 
chen  (Nick  of  the  Wood)  bearbeitet  von  Franz 
Hoffmann.  Mit  Bildern.  Stuttgart,  1847,  8°. 
From  these  foreign  editions  Dr.  Bird,  according  to 
his  wife,  received  nothing,  except  that  unsubstan 
tial  phantom,  reputation. l 

1  See  App  endix  A.  Three  of  Bird's  novels  were  dramatized 
The  Infidel  was  dramatized  by  Benjamin  H.  Brewster  and  played 
in  Philadelphia  in  1 835 ;  The  Hawks  of  Hawk  Hollow  was  put  on  the 
stage  in  1841;  Nick  of  the  Woods  was  dramatized  by  Louisa 
Medina  in  1838  and  proved  one  of  the  most  successful  melo 
dramas  of  the  time. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MARRIAGE,  FARMING,  TEACHING,  AND  POLITICS 

IN  order  to  treat  together  the  novels  of  Dr.  Bird, 
we  have  advanced  our  story  to  the  year  1839.  In 
so  doing  we  have  run  ahead  somewhat  of  his  per 
sonal  narrative.  To  this  we  must  now  turn  and 
record  two  events  that  were  to  be  of  largest  con 
sequence, — his  marriage  and  his  failing  health. 

In  the  copious  assortment  of  letters  for  the  year 
1837  there  is  one  of  special  interest.  It  is  written 
by  Dr.  Bird  to  his  favorite  cousin,  Dorcas  Van 
Dyke,  then  Mrs.  Charles  Irenee  Du  Pont. 

PHILADA.,  July  9,  1837. 

MY  DEAR  COUSIN, 

I  send  you  word  by  Mr.  Du  Pont  that  I  should 
be  extremely  happy  if  your  health  and  con 
venience  would  permit  you  to  be  present  at  a 
certain  wedding  about  to  take  place,  and  en 
gaged  to  give  you  early  information  of  the  day 
thereof.  The  day  is  now  appointed, — Thursday 
next,  at  half  past  eleven  in  the  morning,  the 
ceremony  to  take  place  at  church  where  I 
repeat  it  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  see  you. 
Although  in  church  the  wedding  is  to  be  entirely 
private,  I  inviting  (besides  mother  and  Miss 
Kitty  who  will  be  present  of  course)  nobody  but 
108 


MARRIAGE,  FARMING,  ETC.  109- 

yourself  and  Mr.  Du  Pont  and  also  little  cousin 
Mary,  who  is  invited  by  her  cousin  that  is  to  be. 
The  ceremony  over,  I  carry  my  bride  home, 
where,  after  receiving  a  few  of  her  friends,  we 
shall  have  a  family  dinner  to  which  I  also  in 
vite  you.  I  should  ask  you  in  addition  to  take 
up  quarters  with  us ;  but  I  suppose  we  shall  have 
to  surrender  all  extra  space  for  the  honey-days 
to  my  new  sisters. 

Pray  consider  this  news  as  confidential  (the 
day  and  the  place  are  both  a  secret)  and  believe 
me 

Your  affectionate  cousin 

ROBT.  M.  BIRD. 
MRS.  DORCAS  M.  Du  PONT 
LOUVIERS 

near  BRANDYWINE,  DELAWARE. 


It  was  thus  that  Bird  announced  his  marriage, 
which  took  place  on  Thursday  morning,  July  13, 
1837.  His  bride  was  Miss  Mary  Mayer,  daughter 
of  the  Rev.  Philip  F.  Mayer,  who  performed  the 
ceremony  in  his  own  church,  old  St.  John's,  Race 
Street,  above  Fifth,  Philadelphia.  Bird's  acquaint 
ance  with  the  Mayers  extended  back  to  about 
1830,  at  which  time  begins  a  sequence  of  letters 
from  Miss  Mary  and  Miss  Caroline  Mayer,  her 
sister,  that  possess  a  remarkable  charm  and  in 
terest.  The  Mayer  family  was  one  of  great  piety 
and  refinement.  Philip  Mayer  was  one  of  Phila 
delphia's  most  venerable  clergymen,  and  a  pioneer 
of  Lutheranism  in  America.  He  was  the  first 
American  pastor  to  divest  Lutheranism  of  its 


no  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

exclusively  German  character  by  conducting  the 
service  in  English.  For  fifty-two  years  he  sturdily 
preached  the  word  to  his  only  charge,  old  St. 
John's  Church.  He  was  also  a  man  of  widest 
interests  and  at  various  times  served  as  President 
of  the  Philadelphia  Dispensary,  President  of  the 
Institution  of  the  Deaf  and  Dumb,  and  a  Trustee 
of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania. 

After  his  marriage  Dr.  Bird  made  his  home  at 
No.  140  North  Twelfth  Street,  Philadelphia,  and 
with  the  enlargement  of  power  that  "love,  home, 
ease,  and  happiness  bring"  gave  himself  to  his  pen 
most  unremittingly.  In  March  of  1837  he  had 
completed  Nick  of  the  Woods.  He  had  already 
written  some  of  the  tales  for  Peter  Pilgrim,  and 
was  at  work  on  others.  In  addition  he  now  became 
engaged  in  what  proved  his  largest  magazine 
venture.  For  some  time  there  had  been  talk  of 
founding  in  America  a  periodical  which  should 
broadly  and  worthily  represent  the  nation  as  a 
whole;  hitherto  no  American  magazine  had  quite 
succeeded  in  surmounting  the  strong  sectional 
feeling  that  existed  through  the  States,  rooted 
partly  in  rivalry  and  partly  in  political  differences. 
This  feeling  at  times  was  of  extreme  bitterness. 
For  an  example,  one  need  only  recall,  the  relations 
between  Poe,  then  editing  the  Southern  Literary 
Messenger  and  the  "Metropolitan  litterateurs" 
represented  by  Knickerbocker's  and  The  New  York 
Mirror.  The  only  periodicals  that  had  anything 
like  a  nation-wide  appeal  were  the  British  quar- 


MARRIAGE,  FARMING,  ETC.  in 

terlies  and  monthlies,  or  those  at  home  which 
derived  a  certain  eclat  from  their  foreign  contribu 
tions.  The  result,  as  Charles  Fenno  Hoffman 
wrote  to  Bird,  "was  to  denationalize  our  upper 
classes,  all  their  thinking  is  done  abroad."  With 
two  attempts  to  found  such  a  magazine  Bird  was 
now  concerned.  The  first  was  a  plan  of  Thomas 
Cottrel  Clarke.  Clarke  had  recently  sold  his  inter 
est  in  The  Saturday  Courier  on  such  terms  as  to 
place  at  his  disposal  "ample  means  and  leisure"; 
and  had  outlined  a  magazine  "on  a  more  liberal 
plan  than  anything  that  has  yet  been  attempted 
in  Philadelphia."1  The  Courier,  of  which  he  re 
mained  an  assistant  editor,  had  a  circulation  of 
twenty-six  thousand  and  through  this  he  hoped 
to  make  the  new  venture  known.  Clarke  invited 
Bird  to  undertake  the  editorial  management  of  the 
new  publication.  In  a  letter  of  November  13, 
1836,  Bird  defers  a  definitive  answer  to  Clarke, 
wishing  a  fuller  "understanding  of  each  other's 
aims  and  expectations. ' '  In  the  meantime  Charles 
Fenno  Hoffman  had  drawn  up  a  plan  for  a  national 
magazine.  He  aimed  primarily  at  the  absorption 
of  sectional  rivalry  by  publishing  simultaneously 
from  Boston,  New  York,  and  Philadelphia  The 
American  Monthly  Magazine,  a  journal  that  had 
already  enlarged  its  scope  by  the  absorption  of 
three  others,  The  American  Monthly  Review, 
The  United  States  Magazine,  and  The  New  England 
Magazine.  On  January  n,  1837,  Hoffman  offered 

1  Clarke  to  Bird,  November  9,  1836. 


U2  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

Bird  the  position  of  Philadelphia  editor.  His 
duties  were  to  read  and  sift  articles  and  to  obtain 
or  write  reviews.  He  was  to  receive  a  yearly 
salary  of  $500  and  $2  per  page  for  work  of  his  own. 
This  offer  Bird  accepted  and  a  prospectus  dated 
February,  1837,  announced  him  an  associate 
editor  of  The  American  Monthly  Magazine  with 
Mr.  Hoffman  in  New  York  and  Mr.  Park  ^Ben 
jamin  in  Boston.  In  May  and  June  of  1837  he 
wrote  for  the  new  venture  two  articles  on  the 
Mammoth  Cave;  in  August,  (iA  Tale  of  a  Snag, " 
material  for  which,  also,  he  had  gathered  in  the 
Mississippi  Valley  on  his  Western  trips.  It  seems 
he  was  planning,  too,  a  new  magazine  of  his  own. 
Among  his  manuscripts  I  find  detailed  notes  for 
The  Adelphi,  a  literary  monthly;  a  Philadelphia 
Weekly  Gazette,  a  register  of  letters,  arts,  and  news; 
and  The  New  Whig  Monthly.  Furthermore,  he  was 
receiving  requests  from  many  editors,  with  some 
of  which  he  complied.  But  on  the  whole  he  wrote 
comparatively  little  for  the  periodicals.  The 
reason  he  thus  plainly  states  in  a  letter  to  Dr. 
Samuel  G.  Howe,  who  had  asked  him  to  contrib 
ute  to  The  New  England  Magazine. 

"Neither  my  habits  nor  my  inclinations  as  I 
will  frankly  confess  have  ever  led  me  to  write 
for  periodicals ;  and  the  very  few  pieces  of  mine 
which  have  been  printed  were  given,  in  all 
cases,  at  the  request  of  personal  friends.  I  am 
entirely  of  too  discursive  and  diffuse  a  turn  .  .  . 
to  shine  in  a  nutshell;  and  I  have  always  felt 


MARRIAGE,  FARMING,  ETC.  113 

more  disposed  to  count  by  acts  and  chapters 
than  by  lines  and  paragraphs."1 

Those  who  have  followed  thus  far  the  career  of 
Dr.  Bird  must  have  early  observed  one  fact, — the 
killing  pace  at  which  he  worked.  Between  Janu 
ary,  1834,  and  March,  1837,  he  had  produced  four 
novels;  furthermore,  they  were  of  an  order  to 
strike  Nathaniel  Parker  Willis,  with  wonder  ''how 
he  could  afford  to  put  so  much  material  into  a 
book,"  requiring  exact  portraiture  and  extensive 
research.  Within  this  term  also  he  had  finished 
The  Broker  of  Bogota,  and  had  written  with  much 
other  verse  three  complete  cantos  of  The  Cave, 
a  descriptive  poem  of  large  dimensions.  Besides, 
as  we  have  noted,  he  contributed  to  magazines  and 
assisted  in  editing  The  American  Monthly.  The 
mere  labor  of  penmanship  in  such  an  amount  of 
composition  is  only  realized  when  one  examines 
the  reams  of  extant  manuscript.  But  the  cost  of 
such  an  accomplishment  was  as  sure  as  it  was 
heavy;  in  1833  and  again  in  1835  he  had  taken 
trips  West  to  avert  threatened  breakdowns.  With 
the  enlarged  opportunities  that  now  came  to  him, 
his  mode  of  life  became  correspondingly  more 
sedentary  and  unhygienic.  He  ate,  his  wife 
relates,  two  meals  a  day,  took  little  or  no  exercise; 
and,  to  escape  the  din  and  distraction  of  city 
streets,  gradually  fell  into  the  habit  of  writing 
largely  at  night.  The  effects  of  such  a  regime 

1  Bird  to  Howe,  letter  undated. 


114  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

were  inevitable,  and  his  health  began  to  show  the 
signs  of  a  serious  collapse.  As  a  result  of  impaired 
digestion  he  became  nearly  blind  for  weeks.  In 
November  of  1837  he  was  forced  to  sunder  his 
relations  with  The  American  Monthly.  He  ar 
ranged  and  revised  Peter  Pilgrim  at  considerable 
disadvantage  and  wrote  Robin  Day  under  the 
pressure  of  actual  suffering.  Besides,  there  were 
worries  from  without.  The  publishing  trade  was 
disorganized  throughout  the  country  as  a  conse 
quence  of  hard  times.  Bird  was  not  alone  to  feel 
the  pinch.  Lea  &  Blanchard  writing  to  Poe  shortly 
after  regarding  a  second  edition  of  the  tales,  was 
very  desirous  of  being  relieved  of  publication  "at 
cost  or  even  at  a  small  abatement."  Publishers 
everywhere  preferred  selling  to  buying.  In  June, 
1838,  Bird  had  a  son  born  to  him,  Frederick  Mayer 
Bird,  bringing  upon  him  its  welcome  but  yet 
additional  burden  of  obligations. *  With  an  over 
taxed  mind,  failing  sight,  and  a  breaking  body  Dr. 
Bird  at  the  solicitation  of  his  friends  and  with  a 
sense  of  responsibility  to  his  family,  decided  to 
abandon  literature  and  seek  health  in  agriculture. 
From  his  letters  it  seems  he  thought  of  buying  a 

1  Frederick  Mayer  Bird  (1838-1908)  inherited  many  of  the 
versatile  talents  of  his  father.  Graduating  at  the  University  of 
Pennsylvania  and  Union  Theological  Seminary,  New  York,  he 
held  various  pastorates  and  professorships  until  in  1881  he  became 
chaplain  and  professor  of  Psychology,  Christian  Evidence,  and 
Rhetoric  at  Lehigh  University.  He  was  editor  of  Lippincott's 
Magazine,  1893-98,  and  of  Chandler's  Encyclopedia,  1898.  He 
was  also  a  widely  known  hymnologist  and  numismatist. 


MARRIAGE,  FARMING,  ETC.  115 

farm  in  Maryland  in  January,  1837.  It  was  not 
until  1839  that  he  bought  one  "in  Bohemian  Neck 
on  the  Eastern  Shore  of  Maryland,  situated  on  the 
Elk  about  seven  miles  below  Elkton."  Hither  it 
was  his  intention  to  move  in  the  spring  of  1839. 
He  was  prevented  from  doing  so  and  in  March, 
1839,  occupied  a  house  in  New  Castle  belonging 
to  his  brother,  No.  411  Delaware  Street.  Here,  in 
the  place  of  his  birth,  he  rested  for  a  year,  indulging 
hobbies  and  amassing  all  sorts  of  agricultural  lore. 
On  March  13,  1840,  he  occupied  the  farm. 

Dr.  Bird's  life  at  Cabin  Cove,  or  Bending  Cove, 
or  Bendico,  or  Bird's  Nest,  as  he  variously  named 
his  Maryland  farm,  is  one  of  the  most  charming 
episodes  in  his  career.  Hither  he  retired,  racked 
and  jaded  by  the  strain  of  city  life,  to  the  healing 
quiet  of  the  countryside.  Nor  could  he  have 
chosen  a  lovelier  spot.  The  farm  itself  with  its 
three  hundred  acres  of  wooded  uplands  and  shining 
water  front  was  as  rich  in  beauty  as  in  soil. 
"Never  was  there  a  more  beautiful  river"  he 
writes  to  his  wife  of  the  Elk.  "It  looks  Susque- 
hannaish.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  it  yesterday 
in  the  glorious  misty  calm, — the  piney  headlands, 
blue  hills,  the  dark  and  gleaming  waters."  Along 
its  sandy  banks  he  could  hear  the  "fishermen 
singing  their  boat  songs  all  day  and  all  night." 
Three  miles  off  was  the  steamboat  landing  and 
right  before  their  door  steamers  could  be  seen 
passing  each  other  at  half  past  ten  each  morning. 
Their  dwelling  was  a  cabin,  "old,  ugly,  inconven- 


u6  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

ient,  and  shockingly  out  of  repair"  in  Bird's  own 
words,  but  rain-tight  and  "as  good  and  rather 
better  than  most  other  houses  in  the  manor." 
On  a  shady  side  of  it  he  built  a  workshop,  and  in 
stalled  a  bench  and  tools.  Here  was  labor  for  the 
hands  of  every  kind  and  into  it  Bird  threw  himself 
body  and  soul.  He  rose  at  half  past  four  in  the 
morning  and  bent  to  his  chores  until  half  past  eight 
at  night.  Asking  pardon  of  his  wife,  as  yet  in  New 
Castle,  for  not  writing,  he  complains  he  had  "to 
make  fence,  build  pump,  split  palings,  dig  post 
holes,  measure  land,  mark  lumber,  and  the  Lord 
knows  what."  The  Elk,  then  as  now,  abounded 
in  pike,  perch,  rock,  and  herring ;  and  each  season 
fishermen  came  with  their  pound-nets,  traps,  and 
tackle  to  fish  for  shares.  Bird  had  always  on  the 
place  "two  good  darkies";  but  in  the  oats  season 
fourteen  hands  came  with  their  cradles.  His 
neighbors  were  apparently  primitive  to  a  degree. 
"The  people,"  he  writes,  "are  all  savages  here, 
western  like,  live  in  cabins,  without  furniture; 
don't  know  the  name  or  use  of  any  chattel  beyond 
bed,  chair,  and  table;  are  amazed  at  a  bureau, 
petrified  at  a  pier-table,  and  come  far  and  near  to 
beg  a  look  at  your  toilet." 

Of  his  activities  at  Cabin  Cove  Dr.  Bird  has 
left  records  of  first  interest.  No  less  than  seven 
notebooks  labelled  "Agriculture"  No.  i,  No.  2,  and 
so  on  remain  written  with  characteristic  neatness 
and  style,  and  illustrated  with  plans  and  diagrams. 
He  interested  himself  in  every  phase  of  farming; 


MARRIAGE,  FARMING,  ETC.  117 

devoured  journals,  read  scientific  treatises,  and 
conducted  experiments.  He  thought  of  improving 
hemp  culture  by  cropping  the  same  field  each 
year  instead  of  rotating,  then  the  common  practice. 
He  compared  the  various  methods  of  dressing  it, — 
pool  rotting  and  steam  rotting.  He  devised  a  new 
method  of  sulphuring  manure  to  prevent  undue 
fermentation;  of  extracting  oil  from  opium  by 
means  of  rollers  instead  of  by  incision ;  of  cultivat 
ing  sanguinaria  used  for  dyeing  purposes,  but 
hitherto  difficult  to  obtain  in  large  enough  quanti 
ties.  He  studied  the  production  of  madder,  the 
virtues  and  uses  of  its  roots ;  the  relative  merits  of 
hedges,  the  evergreen,  green  brier,  dogbrier,  and 
privet.  He  tested  a  plan  practiced  in  Bohemia  of 
propagating  apple  trees.  "The  process  is  to  take 
the  shoots  from  the  choicest  sorts,  insert  them 
into  potatoes,  and  plunge  both  into  the  ground, 
leaving  but  an  inch  or  two  of  the  shoot  above  the 
surface.  The  potato  nourishes  the  shoot,  while  it 
pushes  out  roots. ' '  He  investigated  the  production 
and  possible  uses  of  the  pea  vine,  sesame,  nettle, 
ground  nuts,  pink-root,  acorns;  and  so  on.  He 
also  applied  his  rare  powers  mechanically,  and  his 
notebooks  are  full  of  the  most  ingenious  notions 
for  new  farming  implements.  He  outlined  a  con 
trivance  for  removing  stumps,  a  method  of  de 
stroying  the  Hessian  fly  by  swabbing  the  wheat 
with  tobacco,  hellebore,  and  aloes  "by  a  water- 
cart  .  .  .  having  a  flannel  bag  by  way  of  a  swab 
through  which  the  fluid  is  slowly  discharged." 


ii8  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

More  ingenious  than  practicable  is  Dr.  Bird's 
suggestion  of  a  Pig  Mill  by  which  the  whole  sty  is 
placed  "on  an  inclined  wheel  haltering  them  to 
fixed  troughs,  in  which  a  little  food  might  be 
placed  to  start  them.  .  .  .  The  lazy  beasts  would 
perhaps  be  none  the  worse  for  a  little  exercise.  A 
dozen  of  them  would  perhaps  do  the  work  of  an 
ox."  But  the  favorite  scheme  of  Dr.  Bird's  was  a 
method  of  making  bricks.  The  materials  were  to 
be  coal  dust,  turf,  and  clay  wrought  to  the  proper 
temper  in  large  iron  cylinders.  By  means  of  a 
mechanical  cutting  arrangement  of  large  racks 
and  drying-sheds  with  movable  roofs  the  process 
was  made  much  swifter  and  less  laborious.  Be 
sides,  Dr.  Bird  seems  to  have  gathered  a  large  fund 
of  agricultural  lore  on  many  subjects, — banking 
and  drainage,  coal  tar,  marl  beds,  the  nutritive 
value  in  different  plants  and  roots  for  cattle 
feeding.  These  are  by  no  means  all  of  the  varied 
and  numerous  plans  and  ideas  that  the  new  occu 
pation  struck  form  from  Dr.  Bird's  teeming  mind. 
At  Cabin  Cove,  Bird  did  little  with  the  pen.  It 
was  his  intention  while  there  to  write  a  history  of 
the  United  States,  for  which  he  had  gathered 
material  many  years.  Lea  &  Blanchard  had 
stated  a  wish  to  publish  it  and  now  wrote  Bird 
that  they  had  "to  keep  the  presses  moving"  and 
would  be  glad  to  have  the  book,  mildly  reproving 
him  that  he  had  not  gone  to  work  more  resolutely. 
There  was  a  slackened  demand,  it  seems,  for 
novels  and  the  lighter  forms.  But  history  is  not 


MARRIAGE,  FARMING,  ETC.  119 

to  be  written  in  the  fag  ends  of  long  work  days. 
In  a  letter  to  his  wife,  April  15,  1840,  Bird  declares, 
' '  History  of  the  United  States,  indeed !  If  I  wrote 
anything,  it  must  be  a  history  of  my  own  bothers." 
In  consequence  he  did  hardly  more  on  the  book 
than  to  sift  material  and  make  notes. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  only  attempt  to 
stage  Pelopidas,  Bird's  first  prize  tragedy,  was 
made.  The  play  had  been  accepted,  it  is  to  be 
remembered,  by  Edwin  Forrest,  though  never 
performed  nor  paid  for.  Its  literary  merit  had 
won  the  confidence  of  Dr.  George  McClellan  and 
John  Frost,  who  had  interested  William  E.  Burton. 
William  E.  Burton  had  recently  sold  to  George  R. 
Graham  his  celebrated  Gentleman's  Magazine  and 
had  built  a  new  Philadelphia  theater  on  Chestnut 
Street,  where  the  Continental  Hotel  now  stands. 
In  April,  1840,  Burton  accepted  certain  terms 
proposed  by  Dr.  McClellan  regarding  Pelopidas, 
and  promised  to  bring  out  the  play  in  the  fall.  At 
the  time  nothing  more  seems  to  have  been  done, 
although  the  play  was  not  submitted.  On  Sep 
tember  ist  Dr.  McClellan  again  urges  Dr.  Bird 
to  come  to  terms.  Burton  ' 'wants  to  bring  out  the 
Pelopidas  immediately.  Scott  has  been  faithful 
and  made  a  stipulation  with  Burton  to  provide  a 
[clearer]  chance  for  Pelopidas.  The  offer  is  to  put 
the  play  in  immediate  rehearsal  and  bring  it  out  if 
possible  on  the  i8th  instant."  On  that  date,  it 
seems,  Edwin  Forrest  was  to  bring  out  Conrad's 
Jack  Cade  at  the  old  Chestnut  Street  House. 


120  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

With  a  chivalry  that  marked  the  man,  Dr.  Bird 
demurred  out  of  pure  deference  to  his  friend,  Judge 
Conrad.  "I  really  think,"  McClellan  writes  on 
September  I7th,  "you  are  too  delicate  and  scrupu 
lous  in  your  feelings  about  the  bringing  out  of  your 
play.  Conrad  would  not  have  cared  if  his  Conrad 
of  Naples  had  sent  The  Gladiator  to  the  devil,  nor 
would  he  now  care  though  his  piece  of  radical 
rascality  were  to  row  poor  Pelopidas  up  salt  river. ' ' 
A  last  attempt  to  have  the  play  staged  was  made 
by  John  Frost,  to  whom  Burton  then  wrote: 

J.  FROST,  Esqr. 
MY  DEAR  SIR, 

I  will  produce  Pelopidas  with  all  possible 
splendor  and  befitting  appointments.  I  will 
share  with  the  author  the  proceeds  of  the  house, 
nightly,  the  same  as  with  a  principal  star,  de 
ducting  the  expenses,  averaging  $250,  with  a 
third  of  the  gross  proceeds  of  the  seventh  night, 
clear  of  all  deductions,  for  the  author's  profit, 
reserving  to  myself  the  sole  use  of  the  tragedy  in 
the  City  of  Philadelphia,  so  long  as  I  remain 
manager,  but  making  no  claim  for  its  use  in  any 
other  city,  the  profits  of  said  use  in  other  cities 
to  be  at  the  author's  own  disposal. 

I  believe  that  the  production  of  Pelopidas  will 
answer  the  purposes  of  all  concerned.  I  pledge 
myself  that  it  shall  be  produced  in  a  superior 
way,  and  that  the  character  shall  be  well  sup 
ported. 

I  am,  my  dear  Sir, 

Your  obedt  Servt 

W.  E.  BURTON. 

NAT.  THEATRE,  PHIL  A., 
Dec.  15,  1840. 


MARRIAGE,  FARMING,  ETC.  121 

P.  S.  Should  Dr.  Bird  prefer,  I  will  give  him 
ten  per  cent  on  the  gross  receipts  nightly  whenever 
the  Tragedy  is  played. 


There  can  be  little  question  of  the  success  of 
Pelopidas  had  it  been  given.  Burton  had  taken 
fortune  by  the  forelock.  He  was  well  backed;  his 
new  house  was  thronged  daily;  he  had  engaged 
one  of  the  best  stock  companies  to  be  had  in  the 
States.  He  had  won  the  people's  confidence;  and 
they  were  ready  "to  puff  everything  produced," 
as  McClellan  wrote  Bird,  "to  the  height  and  depth 
of  its  merits."  Furthermore,  he  expressed  a  wish 
to  have  all  that  Bird  could  write  for  him  and  would 
"push  them  all "  in  other  cities.  What  it  was  that 
induced  Dr.  Bird  to  hold  back  his  play  is  not  plain. 
It  may  have  been  in  part  at  least  a  dislike  to  engage 
in  rivalry  with  Conrad ;  or  possibly  an  absorption 
in  other  matters ;  or  a  distaste  for  a  phase  of  litera 
ture  that  years  before  had  wrought  him  such  in 
justice.  The  fact  only  remains  he  did  not  submit 
Pelopidas. 

But  if  labor  with  the  pen  at  Cabin  Cove  yielded 
little,  the  work  of  his  hands,  the  fresh  air,  and  the 
quiet  life  on  a  farm  soon  brought  health  and  invig- 
oration.  "I  am  as  hearty, "  he  writes  to  his  wife, 
September  22,  1840,  "as  if  I  never  had  ailed." 
His  sight  mended;  his  face  acquired,  we  are  told, 
the  florid  tints  of  "an  Englishman."  In  a  word, 
his  term  of  life  was  unquestionably  prolonged  by 
the  change.  But  a  productive  farm  of  three  hun- 


122  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

dred  acres  entails  other  considerations.  Rich  as 
was  the  soil,  there  was  an  instant  need  for  large 
improvement,  all  of  which  was  heavily  expensive. 
The  year's  crops  had  been  what  the  farmers  call 
"a  failure."  Besides,  the  prospect  of  spending 
the  winter  with  a  wife  and  child  in  hardly  more 
than  a  cabin  was  far  from  attractive.  Conse 
quently  on  September  25,  1840,  Dr.  Bird  thinks  of 
moving  to  New  Castle  "more  sorry  to  leave  the 
farm  than  I  can  express.  I  cannot  look  around  me 
but  my  eyes  fill.  Here  we  could  and  might  have 
been  so  happy,  had  my  beggarly  fate  been  a  little 
more  propitious.  The  season  of  health  and  delight 
has  just  begun.  .  .  .  All  is  peace  and  beauty.  .  .  . 
Yes,  the  beauty  of  Bendico  is  just  beginning. "x 
Shortly  after  he  moved  his  family  to  the  house  in 
New  Castle,  No.  411  Delaware  Street.  It  is  from 
this  time  that  our  only  first-hand  impression  of  Dr. 
Bird  dates.  Miss  Emily  Rodney,  of  the  well- 
known  Delaware  family,  once  a  playmate  of  Bird's 
son,  remembers  the  dramatist,  a  tall,  large,  im 
pressive  figure,  clad  in  a  cloak,  with  spectacles, 
a  characteristic  erectness  of  head,  and  a  stride 
of  unusual  energy  in  his  walks  about  New 
Castle.2 

In  the  spring  of  1841  Dr.  Bird  turned  to  a  pro 
fession  for  which  he  was  superbly  fitted,  but  which 

1  Bird  to  Mrs.  Bird,  September  25,  1840. 

8 1  am  indebted  for  this  account  of  Dr.  Bird  to  Mr.  Henry 
Hanby  Hay  of  New  Castle,  a  brother-in-law  of  Miss  Emily 
Rodney. 


MARRIAGE,  FARMING,  ETC.  123 

to  him  was  always  the  most  irksome  of  tasks, — 
teaching.  In  the  fall  of  1839  a  new  medical  college 
had  been  founded  in  Philadelphia,  located  on 
Filbert  Street  above  Eleventh  and  known  as  the 
Pennsylvania  Medical  College.  .  In  origin  it  was  a 
branch  of  the  Pennsylvania  College  at  Gettysburg. 
By  a  special  act  of  the  Legislature  in  1839-40  it 
was  empowered  to  grant  degrees  in  the  city  of 
Philadelphia  and  given  privileges  equal  with  other 
medical  schools  of  the  State,  the  Faculty  thus 
becoming  virtually  a  board  of  trustees.  Upon  it 
were  eminent  physicians  and  warm  personal  friends 
of  Dr.  Bird,— Drs.  William  Rush,  George  Mc- 
Clellan,  Samuel  G.  Morton,  and  Walter  R.  John 
son,  his  old  teacher  at  German  town  Academy. 
The  College  numbered  a  student  body  of  some  250 
men.  At  this  institution  Bird  was  offered  the 
professorship  of  the  Institute  of  Medicine  and 
Materia  Medica,  made  vacant  by  the  death  of  Dr. 
Calhoun,  which  he  accepted  in  May,  1841.  Leav 
ing  his  family  in  New  Castle,  he  went  to  Philadel 
phia  and  took  lodgings  at  No.  20  Montgomery 
Square,  Race  Street  above  Tenth,  and  later  at  No. 
28  North  Eighth  Street. 

Among  Bird's  extant  papers  are  his  lectures  in 
Materia  Medica  with  two  printed  addresses. 
They  are  written  with  all  the  ease  of  phrase,  the 
wealth  of  allusion  and  anecdote  that  only  a  man  of 
his  literary  gifts  could  command.  Reading  alone 
suffices  to  disclose  their  grace  of  form  and  interest. 
For  such  a  one  teaching  would  supposedly  have 


124  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

been  a  delight ;  the  opposite,  however,  seems  em 
phatically  to  have  been  the  case.  Of  course,  the 
circumstances  were  in  part  accountable.  On 
December  12,  1841,  he  writes  to  his  wife,  "I  am 
kept  too  mulishly  busy  to  enjoy  care.  The  class 
is  very  small,  under  eighty,  I  believe.  There  was 
a  ridiculous  mistake  about  its  being  near  one 
hundred.  Of  course  I  shall  make  very  little  money ; 
and  of  course  also  I  am  disheartened.  Neverthe 
less,  my  colleagues  are  in  such  good  spirits  that 
they  talk  of  building  a  new  college,  having  sundry 
tempting  offers  there  anent.  I  don't  know  what  I 
shall  do;  I  have  not  time  yet  to  make  up  my 
opinion.  My  feeling  is  to  retire  in  the  spring ;  but  I 
have  till  the  spring  and  some  time  after  to  think 
about  it.  I  certainly  do  unutterably  detest  this 
living  and  drudging  a  whole  winter  in  separation, 
and  all  for  nothing.  The  work  expended  on  my 
lectures  would  have  written  my  Hist,  of  U.  S. ; 
but  I  don't  know,  indeed,  that  the  history  would 
have  paid  me  any  better,  these  hard  times.  Oh, 
for  a  little  ease,  and  quiet,  and  laziness."  The 
second  year  was  not  more  pleasant.  On  July 
n,  1842,  he  writes,  "The  two  months  crept  away 
very  slowly,  and  instead  of  rejoicing  that  a  week  of 
the  term  is  passed  away,  I  grumble  because  it  is 
not  two  or  three.  However,  Sunday  will  bring  us 
to  the  middle  of  the  month  and  then  there  will 
remain  but  six  weeks  more  bother  or  at  least  of 
lecturing."  Notwithstanding  Dr.  Bird  gave  two 
full  courses  of  lectures  in  1841-42  and  1842-43, 


MARRIAGE,  FARMING,  ETC.  125 

continuing  in  connection  until  the  disorganiza 
tion  of  the  institution  in  1844. 

During  his  residence  at  New  Castle,  also,  Dr. 
Bird  formed  one  of  the  most  fruitful  friendships  of 
his  life,  giving  to  his  interests  still  a  fresh  turn. 
In  the  spring  of  1842  John  Middleton  Clayton 
occupied  the  old  mansion  known  as  the  Read 
House  on  Water  Street,  New  Castle.  Clayton  had 
already  begun  his  career  of  distinction.  He  had 
been  a  senator  at  thirty-three,  had  served  a  dis 
tinguished  term  on  the  bench,  and  was  already 
counted  one  of  Delaware's  leading  statesmen.  In 
politics  he  was  a  strong  Whig,  as  the  new  reforming 
party  was  named  that  came  into  existence  about 
1837.  Through  Dr.  McClellan,  John  M.  Clayton 
and  Dr.  Bird  met  and  formed  an  intimacy  that 
lasted  throughout  their  lives.  Through  Clayton, 
Bird,  too,  became  an  active  member  of  the  Whig 
party;  its  principles  of  reform  he  had  long  stood 
for,  its  leaders  he  now  came  to  know  and  to  admire. 
Accordingly  in  the  spring  of  1842,  when  a  Con 
gressional  vacancy  occurred  through  a  declination 
of  a  renomination  by  Mr.  Rodney,  Dr.  Bird  was 
pressed  to  run.  He  reluctantly  consented  and 
took  the  stump  in  his  own  behalf.  In  his  extant 
speeches  he  sets  forth  two  claims  for  consideration. 
"I  am  a  FULL  BLOODED  DELAWAREAN  and  I  can 
boast  .  .  .  that  five  or  six  generations  of  my 
fathers  were  born  upon  and  now  molder  beneath 
the  soil;  and  then  I  am  a  Whig,  a  very  good  one." 
But  from  the  first  he  was  uncertain  of  his  wish  to 


126  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

enter  politics.  It  was,  he  declared,  like  Malvolio's 
honor  "  thrust  upon  him,  "  and  he  would  go  from  a 
sense  of  duty.  ' '  The  thing  perplexes  me,  you  may 
be  sure,"  he  writes  June  12,  1842.  The  state  of 
the  medical  college  was  dubious.  And  yet  his  wife 
opposed  on  all  grounds  the  Congressional  nomina 
tion.  It  would  mean  separation  from  his  family; 
a  permanent  appointment  in  Washington  might 
ensue;  but  "to  be  among  that  scandalous  set  that 
disgrace  the  House"  was  her  prime  objection. 
Besides,  a  new  professorship  had  been  heard  of  in 
Lexington,  Kentucky.  The  nomination  was  to  be 
July  5th.  As  late  as  June  29th  Mr.  Rodney's 
declination  was  uncertain.  Out  of  deference  to  his 
wife's  wishes,  and  cooled  by  the  delay  and  the 
uncertainty,  Bird  withdrew  from  the  running. 

For  a  brief  term  he  again  turned  to  literature. 
He  revised  his  four  dramas, — Pelopidas,  The 
Gladiator,  Oralloossa,  and  The  Broker  of  Bogota. 
He  gathered  sources  for  a  history  of  the  annexa 
tion  of  Texas  and  the  Mexican  War,  of  which  he 
wrote  one  chapter,  still  with  his  manuscripts. 
He  wrote  the  portion  of  a  novel  entitled  The 
Celebrated  Mrs.  Munchary,  a  satire  on  the  new 
woman  of  the  day.1  He  drew  up  a  plan  for  the 

1  It  is  written  in  a  series  of  letters  and  can  perhaps  be  best 
described  by  Bird's  own  description  of  a  vignette  illustration  to 
accompany  it  entitled  "Young  America":  "Foreground — Street. 
A  man  nursing  the  baby,  while  his  wife  knocks  down  a  lady  for 
insulting  him ;  a  horsewoman  astraddle,  gallanting  a  gentleman  on 
a  side  saddle;  twogirls  fighting, and  all  the  boys  screaming  for  fear. 
Background.  An  Open  Senate  Chamber.  Two  wenches  keeping 


MARRIAGE,  FARMING,  ETC.  127 

organization  of  the  Smithsonian  Institute.  He 
further  wrote  a  part  of  a  memoir  of  John  M.  Clay 
ton,  and  a  sketch  of  the  Life  of  Major  Thomas 
Stockton,  which  was  printed  and  widely  read.  In 
it  he  cleared  Stockton  of  vicious  charges  fabricated 
by  political  opponents,  and  greatly  aided  his  elec 
tion  as  Governor  of  Delaware. 

One  more  service  for  the  Whig  cause  during 
Bird's  life  at  New  Castle  remains  unchronicled. 
This  party,  it  seems,  had  soon  gained  an  astonish 
ing  strength  and  influence;  about  its  standards 
were  gathering  some  of  the  ablest  men  in  the 
States.  A  great  Whig  Convention  was  planned  to 
meet  at  Baltimore  to  organize  and  nominate  for 
the  coming  election.  Henry  Clay  was  slated  for 
the  Presidency.  Among  the  candidates  for  the 
Vice-Presidency  was  John  M.  Clayton.  In  behalf 
of  his  friend  Dr.  Bird  once  more  took  the  stump. 
Speech  after  speech  he  made  to  the  various  Clay 
clubs  in  the  Hundreds  and  cities,  vigorously  assert 
ing  the  claims  of  the  Whigs,  lauding  their  leaders, 
and  denouncing  the  Locofocos.  "I  believe  the 
man  never  yet  lived,"  runs  one  of  his  speeches, 
"who  had  a  more  noble  spirit,  a  truer  love  of  his 
country,  or  a  greater  capacity  to  render  it  great 
and  prosperous  than  that  nature's  gentleman  .  .  . 
whom  the  American  people  now  mean  to  make 
their  President, — Henry  Clay  of  Kentucky.  And 
if  there  is  anyone  else  in  the  land  who  equals  or 

the  door,  and  a  female  Senate,  harangued  by  a  female  Demos 
thenes,  who  gesticulates  at  the  expense  of  her  petticoat." 


128  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

approaches  him  .  .  .  that  is  John  M.  Clayton  of 
Delaware."  To  the  great  Whig  Convention  at 
Baltimore  in  May,  1844,  he  went  as  Clayton's 
personal  representative  and  received  the  states 
man's  friends  as  they  arrived  from  different  quar 
ters  of  the  Union.  This  Convention  he  describes 
in  the  following  letter  to  his  six -year -old  son, 
writing  legibly  and  naively  warning  him  of  the 
dangers  of  life  in  Philadelphia.  As  it  closes  Bird's 
political  activities,  so  it  may  suitably  close  this 
chapter. 

MY  DEAR  LITTLE  SON, 

I  arrived  from  Baltimore  in  safety,  along  with 
my  trunk,  which  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
recover.  Everybody  who  travels  should  look 
to  his  own  luggage,  and  then  he  will  not  lose  it. 

I  had  a  very  agreeable  time  at  Baltimore, 
seeing  and  hearing  things,  which  you  would 
have  been  delighted  to  see  and  hear.  There 
were  thousands  of  men  walking  in  a  vast  pro 
cession,  with  beautiful  banners  and  bands  of 
music ;  and  all  persons  had  splendid  badges  and 
medals,  such  as  I  have  given  your  dear  mother  to 
send  up  to  you.  All  this  was  in  honor  of  Henry 
Clay.  But  I  shall  tell  you  more  about  it  some 
other  time. 

I  hope  you  are  well  and  that  you  enjoy  your 
self  up  in  Philadelphia.  I  learn  from  the  news 
papers  that  there  are  wicked  men  up  there,  who 
are  fighting  and  shooting,  and  killing  one 
another.  It  is  a  very  bad  business;  and  I  desire 
that  you  will  keep  out  of  their  way :  for,  though 
I  do  not  apprehend  you  would  shoot  anybody, 
yet  somebody  might  shoot  you. 


MARRIAGE,  FARMING,  ETC.  129 

When  you  are  tired  of  Philadelphia,  I  shall  be 
rejoiced — and  so  will  your  dear  mother  be — to 
have  you  back  again  in  New  Castle. 

I  hope  your  grandpa  has  got  well.  Give  my 
love  to  all  your  aunts,  and  believe  me 

Your  affectionate  father, 

ROBERT  M.  BIRD. 
FREDERICK  MAYER  BIRD. 


CHAPTER  VII 

JOURNALISM 

IN  one  department  of  his  career  Robert  Mont 
gomery  Bird  was  supremely  happy;  in  his  home 
life  he  was  blessed  beyond  the  lot  of  most  men .  To 
that  he  could  always  turn  and  find  "peace  and 
trust  and  affection."  His  was  one  of  those  strong, 
chivalrous  natures  capable  of  inspiring  in  women 
a  regard  that  literally  amounted  to  devotion. 
During  his  life  it  was  the  first  concern  of  Mrs.  Bird 
to  make  their  home  a  place  of  inviolate  sanctity 
and  peace,  and  to  soothe  and  cheer  a  nature  that 
perhaps  was  ever  too  sensitive.  After  his  death, 
not  content  with  leaving  a  detailed  memoir  of  his 
life,  she  diligently  gathered  and  preserved  every 
bit  of  paper  his  pen  had  touched.  Furthermore, 
his  was  a  life  of  few  strifes  and  many  abiding 
friendships.  One  misses  an  essential  trait  of  the 
man  who  omits  to  mention  his  uncommon  power 
to  inspire  strong  attachments.  To  this  fact  the 
obituaries  following  his  death  without  exception 
bore  witness.  As  the  list  of  these  intimacies  is 
long,  only  a  few  can  be  given  here.  They  deserve 
mention  because,  more  than  others,  they  shaped 

130 


JOURNALISM  131 

his  development.  There  was  Dr.  George  McClel- 
lan,  the  well-known  physician,  through  whom  Dr. 
Bird  met  Edwin  Forrest  and  who  until  his  death 
was  tireless  in  Bird's  behalf;  John  Frost,  the  his 
torian,  ever  the  best  of  friends;  James  Lawson, 
whose  bounty  went  forth  to  many  a  struggling 
author;  W.  Gaylord  Clark,  through  whom  Bird 
met  Longfellow;  Hiram  Powers,  the  sculptor, 
whom  Bird — among  the  first  to  perceive  his  gifts — 
started  on  his  career  encouraged.  Though  a  friend 
of  his  later  years  only,  none  stood  closer  in  Dr. 
Bird's  regard  than  John  Middleton  Clayton,  Dela 
ware's  great  statesman,  and  Secretary  of  State 
under  Taylor.  Their  friendship,  it  seems,  was 
mutual.  "I  love  you,"  wrote  Clayton  to  Bird, 
August,  1848,  " better  than  any  man  on  earth 
except  my  own  children  and  while  my  heart  shall 
pulsate  that  feeling  will  never  abate."  At  his 
friend's  death,  Clayton  left,  besides  a  codicil  in 
his  will  designed  to  ease  the  weight  of  debt  on 
Mrs.  Bird,  a  bequest  of  five  hundred  dollars  for  the 
erection  of  a  monument  to  Bird's  memory,  pro 
vided  he  be  buried  in  his  native  State. 

After  the  Whig  Convention  at  Baltimore  in  the 
spring  of  1844  Dr.  Bird  retired  to  New  Castle 
where  for  about  two  years  he  again  pursued 
favorite  schemes.  Chief  among  these  were  experi 
ments  in  industrial  chemistry.  He  was. perfecting 
a  method,  his  wife  states,  for  "the  manufacture  of 
niter,  saltpeter,  and  magnesia,  and  his  experiments 
j'n  the  preparation  of  a  superior  form  of  that  article 


132  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

at  a  cheap  price  had  resulted  in  complete  success. 
He  was  delayed  in  the  establishment  of  works  for 
this  purpose  by  the  difficulty  of  procuring  a  suit 
able  lot  and  buildings."  His  friends,  too,  were 
urgent  in  his  behalf.  In  April  of  1844,  John  Frost, 
then  a  sub-editor  of  Godey's  Magazine,  solicited 
him  to  become  a  regular  contributor  and  suggested 
a  series  of  sketches  based  on  Mexican  and  Peruvian 
history.  Through  the  death  of  Professor  Sander 
son  the  chair  of  Classical  Literature  in  the  Phila 
delphia  High  School  was  made  vacant,  and  its 
acceptance  Frost  was  pressing  on  Bird.  Of  course, 
it  paid  only  $1100;  but  the  duties  were  light;  his 
afternoons  would  be  free  to  devote  to  writing; 
and  the  book  trade  was  now  in  full  blast.  Along 
with  it  he  might  also  hold  his  professorship  in 
Materia  Medica.  In  March  of  1846  Clayton  urged 
him  to  accept  a  Prothonotaryship ;  stating  "that 
it  will  be  offered  you."  The  same  month  his 
father-in-law,  the  Rev.  Philip  Mayer,  writes,  ' '  Mr. 
Lea  is  very  desirous  you  should  prepare  the  long 
talked  of  history  of  America  or  the  United  States 
(I  don't  know  which).  Mac[Clellan]  added  that 
Lea  intimated  a  disposition  to  pay  Four  Thousand 
Dollars  for  it  in  instalments  as  the  work  should 
come  out."  In  April,  1846,  Dr.  Bird  was  ap 
pointed  by  Governor  Maull  a  director  of  the 
Farmer's  Bank  at  New  Castle.  On  December  7, 
1846,  he  wrote  for  The  North  American  an  article 
on  the  Smithsonian  Institute  that  awakened  wide 
attention.  The  Board  of  Regents  had  just  ap- 


JOURNALISM  133 

pointed  to  the  Secretaryship  Professor  Joseph 
Henry,  of  the  College  of  New  Jersey  at  Princeton. 
This  appointment  Bird  warmly  commends  and 
takes  occasion  to  outline  the  uses  to  which,  he 
thinks,  the  bequest  should  be  put.  It  would  be 
unwise,  he  urged,  to  found  another  college ;  of  these 
there  was  already  plenty.  On  the  other  hand 
America  had  no  institution  like  the  Royal  Society 
of  London  or  the  National  Institute  of  France,  with 
its  sole  end  the  promotion  of  science.  To  this 
purpose  the  Smithsonian  bequest  with  the  nation 
as  its  guardian  might  well  be  put.  The  subsequent 
development  of  the  institute  on  almost  exactly  the 
lines  Dr.  Bird  suggested  has  proved  the  wisdom  of 
his  views.  At  the  time  the  article  drew  attention 
to  Bird's  fitness  for  a  position  in  the  institution. 
From  a  letter  of  Clayton's,  January  22,  1847,  it 
seems  Professor  Henry  wanted  him  as  an  associate; 
that  his  appointment  had  been  moved;  and  that 
Henry  was  to  be  "the  scientific  man"  and  Bird 
"the  literary  man"  of  the  institution.  This  plan, 
however,  came  to  naught  through  Dr.  Bird's 
purchase  of  a  share  in  The  North  American  (news 
paper)  and  his  removal  to  Philadelphia.  At  the 
solicitation  of  John  M.  Clayton,  through  whose 
loan  the  purchase  was  made  possible,  he  bought 
on  June  23,  1847,  of  George  R.  Graham  and 
Morton  McMichael  "one  third  the  joint  estab 
lishment  of  The  North  American  and  United  States 
Gazette  including  all  the  properties  appertaining 
to  the  establishment  to  the  amount  for  one  third 


134   LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

as  above  stated"  for  $30,800.  Since  with  this 
publication  he  was  connected  for  the  rest  of  his  life, 
and  in  itself  it  is  a  notable  journal,  a  brief  review 
is  in  place. 

The  North  American,  according  to  Frederic 
Hudson,  "can  claim  to  be,  by  purchase,  the  oldest 
daily  paper,  morning  and  evening,  published  in  the 
United  States."  Like  many  publications  of  its 
time  it  had  a  very  composite  development  and  had 
absorbed  wholly  or  partly  no  less  than  ten  periodi 
cals. z  Under  the  name  of  The  North  American  it 
was  first  issued,  March  26,  1839,  at  No.  63  (now 
233)  Dock  Street,  Philadelphia.  In  October,  1845, 
it  was  sold  to  George  R.  Graham  and  Alexander 
Cummings,  who  engaged  Robert  T.  Conrad,  the 
distinguished  jurist,  poet,  dramatist,  and  orator, 
as  editor.  A  difference  of  political  views,  how 
ever,  led  to  a  dissolution  of  the  firm,  Mr.  Graham 
remaining  sole  proprietor  until  January  I,  1847, 
when  Morton  McMichael  became  associated  with 
him  in  the  firm  of  Graham  &  McMichael.  The 
paper  at  this  time  was  an  eight-column  folio,  with 
a  head  similar  to  that  now  used  and  with  the  motto 
"Devoted  to  Truth."  It  was  published  at  the 
northwest  corner  of  Chestnut  and  Fourth  Streets 

1  i st.  The  Pennsylvania}  Packet  or  the  General  Advertiser, 
1771.  2d.  The  American  Daily  Advertiser,  1784.  3d.  Gazette 
of  the  United  States,  1789.  4th.  Evening  Advertiser,  1793.  5th. 
United  States  Gazette,  1804.  6th.  True  American,  1820.  7th. 
Commercial  Chronicle,  1820.  8th.  The  Union,  1820.  9th.  The 
North  American,  1839.  loth.  Commercial  Herald.  (Hudson, 
History  of  Journalism,  p.  183.) 


JOURNALISM  135 

until  its  removal  in  July,  1848,  to  No.  132  South 
Third  Street.  At  the  beginning  of  1847  The  North 
American  and  The  United  States  Gazette  were 
separate,  though  of  like  aims  and  standing.  Both 
were  of  Whig  persuasion ;  both  advocated  protec 
tion;  both  gave  loyal  support  to  city  and  State 
interests;  and  both  were  highly  successful,  though 
naturally  competitors.  On  July  I,  1847,  when  Dr. 
Bird  became  associated,  the  two  papers  were 
joined  in  one  of  nearly  the  present  size.  "It  is  not 
often,"  runs  the  editorial  in  that  issue,  "that  such 
union  is  effected — they  believe,  indeed,  that  such 
union  has  never  before  been  effected  in  the  United 
States — between  two  journals  in  such  a  completely 
flourishing  condition  as  The  United  States  Gazette 
and  The  North  American,  the  one  possessing  all  the 
solid  and  long  established  business  relations  which 
are  the  fruits  of  mature  age,  the  other  the  vigor, 
and  energy,  and  rich  promise  that  belong  to  active 
youth."  The  announcement  of  its  editorial  force 
includes,  Robert  T.  Conrad,  in  charge  of  the  poli 
tical  department;  James  S.  Wallace,  general 
associate  editor,  G.  G.  Foster,  city  editor;  and 
Dr.  Robert  M.  Bird  "whose  high  attainments  in 
literature  and  science  are  universally  known  and 
appreciated, "  who  was  to  preside  over  the  mis 
cellaneous  department.  The  firm,  known  as 
Graham  &  McMichael,  was  located  at  No.  66 
South  Third  Street,  Philadelphia.1 

1  Among  the  Bird  MSS.  I  find  the  following  testimonial  regard 
ing  The  North  American  from  Henry  Clay: 


I36  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

Removing  to  Philadelphia  Dr.  Bird  assumed  his 
new  duties  with  ardor.  His  editorials,  written  in 
neat  and  melodious  phrase  on  a  wide  range  of 
subject-matter,  are  not  hard  to  identify  and  shall 
be  briefly  treated  in  their  place.  Here  we  are  only 
concerned  with  the  outer  aspects  of  the  under 
taking.  The  burdensome  tasks  that  rest  on  the 
editing  force  of  a  daily  newspaper  are  too  well 
known  to  need  mention.  In  Bird's  case,  it  seems, 
they  were  unusually  heavy  by  reason  of  an  utterly 
unbusinesslike  management  with  no  equal  division 
of  labor  whatever.  Judge  Conrad — lawyer,  drama 
tist,  poet,  journalist — had  so  many  interests  that 
he  was  able  only  occasionally  to  contribute  to  the 
columns.  George  R.  Graham  was  hardly  more 
helpful  on  account  of  his  frequent  ''frolics  up  the 
river"  as  Bird  put  it,  and  his  load  of  copper  specu 
lations.  Morton  McMichael  was  engaged  with  the 
business  management.  In  consequence  the  burden 
of  editing  lay  upon  Dr.  Bird.  Already  in  December 
of  1847  the  constant  confinement  throughout  the 

"I  have  received  and  attentively  perused  many  months  the 
N.  American  published  in  Philadelphia,  with  which  the 
U.  States  Gazette  is  now  associated;  and  I  take  pleasure  in 
bearing  my  humble  testimony  to  the  consummate  ability  with 
which  it  is  generally  edited,  and  to  the  soundness  of  the  principles 
which  it  labors  to  illustrate  and  establish.  I  think  it  eminently 
merits  public  patronage,  and  especially  Whig  support.  If  that 
great  cause  should  be  triumphant,  as  there  is  now  ground  for 
confident  hopes,  that  paper  must  be  regarded  as  one  of  its  most 
fearless  champions  and  enlightened  supporters. 

"H.  CLAY." 

"Aug.  1847." 


JOURNALISM  137 

day  and  half  the  night  had  again  brought  the 
warnings  of  a  serious  disease.  Before  the  year 
was  up,  he  was  plainly  overworked  and  despon 
dent.  "The  experience  of  a  year, "  runs  a  jotting 
in  his  hand  dated  June  19,  1848,  "satisfies  me  that 
the  concern  cannot  be  safe  and  prosperous  as  it 
ought  to  be  without  the  entire  devotion  of  all  the 
proprietors'  time  and  functions  to  all  its  interests, 
and  a  systematic  regulation  of  functions  such  as 
will  produce  some  equitable  divisions  of  labors." 
Besides,  the  policy  of  the  paper  had  at  times  taken 
a  turn  offensive  to  both  Bird  and  Clayton.  It  had 
engaged  in  ill-advised  personal  assaults  that  had 
stirred  violent  complaint.  In  May,  1848,  Clayton 
writes  Bird,  ' '  I  have  no  confidence  that  it  will  ever 
regain  the  good  opinion  of  the  men  it  has  now 
attacked";  and  advises  him  to  end  his  connection 
at  once  and  come  to  the  Delaware  Farm.  ' '  Green 
fields  and  bullocks  are  better  objects  of  contem 
plation." 

The  chief  source,  however,  of  Bird's  uneasiness 
was  the  copper  speculations  of  George  R.  Graham. 
Graham  it  seems  was  in  one  of  those  periods  of 
recklessness  and  dissipation  frequently  marring  a 
career  that  might  have  reached  distinction.  In 
1848  he  was  forced  to  transfer  the  magazine  that 
had  so  long  and  famously  borne  his  name  to 
Samuel  Dewees  Patterson,  "a  series  of  misfor 
tunes"  to  use  his  own  phrase  "having  bereft  me 
of  any  proprietory  interest  in  this  magazine." 
He  was  retained,  however,  by  the  new  owner  as  one 


138  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

of  the  editors.    Through  his  plunging,  it  seems,  he 
was  also  undermining  The  North  American.    In  a 
letter,  June  22,  1848,  Bird  sets  forth  to  him  the 
result  of  his  conduct.     "The  credit  of  the  firm  is 
impaired,  its  solvency  publicly  doubted,  its  char 
acter  seriously  injured,  and  its  influence  greatly 
lessened."      He  pleads  with   Graham  to  relieve 
himself  of  his  "load  of  speculation  and  return  to 
real  business."    On  July  7,  1848,  there  is  a  further 
rebuke  for  using  the  name  of  the  firm  for  private 
business.     "Since  July  ist,  ...  I  find  that  you 
have  used  the  name  of  the  firm — as  on  checks  and 
drafts — without  consultation  of  either  McM  [Mc- 
Michael]  or  myself  for  your  own  private  purposes. " 
On  July  10,  1848:  "I  discovered  today  almost  by 
accident  that  the  checks  of  '  Graham  &  McMichael ' 
have  for  some  time  past  been  sold  to  Brokers  and 
that  while  I  have  been  taught  to  regard  the  raising 
of  $1000  as  a  peculiar  privilege,  discounts  have 
been  obtained  on  the  credit  of  the  firm  for  $32,000." 
Little  wonder  it  is  that  Dr.  Bird,  with  whom  honor 
was  instinctive  and  final,  writes,  August  23,  1848, 
to  his  wife,  at  that  time  in  New  Castle  and  some 
what  tired  of  its  drab  dullness.     "I  also  feel  sorry 
at  your  giving  so  bad  an  account  of  New  Castle, 
which  with  all  its  faults,  I  prefer  to  all  the  Phila- 
delphias  that  are,  were,  or  will  be,  and  would  be 
glad  to  accept  in  exchange  with  $1500  a  year 
independent  income  giving  a  receipt  in  full  for  all 
claims  upon  fortune  and  the  pleasures  of  Phila 
delphia.    I  know  the  vices  of  the  people ;  but  there 


JOURNALISM  139 

is  no  dream  among  them  of  the  settled  rascalities 
of  a  city. ' ' 

Elsewhere    among    Bird's    memoranda    is    the 
following  summary  of  the  situation. 

' '  I .  The  first  year :  the  circumstances  and 
the  result. 

"A.  The  circumstances.  I  have  devoted  my 
self  to  the  N.  A .  to  the  entire  exclusion  of  the 
private  business  and  personal  interests.  I  have 
had  distinct  offers  for  literary  work  which  I  could 
have  performed  within  the  year,  employing  half 
my  time  in  it,  amounting  to  $2500;  with  various 
contingent  offers:  so  that  I  might  easily  have 
made  arrangements  for  private  business  requir 
ing  four  or  five  hours  a  day  which  would  have 
brought  me  the  interest  of  the  bond — a  very 
tempting  opportunity.  Declined  all,  however, 
to  give  all  time  to  the  paper  in  the  hope  that 
this  sacrifice  would  ultimately  be  compensated 
by  increased  character,  business,  and  profits. 
The  circumstances  of  the  last  three  or  four 
months  have  been  unfavorable  to  my  hopes  and 
to  all  prospects  of  increased  business,  character, 
and  profits ;  and  as  the  second  year  approaches 
presenting  to  me  a  spectacle  of  doubt  and  gloom. 

"  The  question  is  what  inducement  have  I  to 
continue  longer,  under  my  particular  circum 
stances  laboring  as  it  seems  in  vain  under  a  load 
of  difficulty  and  anxiety,  which  no  efforts  or 
sacrifice  of  mind,  unaided  by  a  common  effort 
and  sacrifice  of  all,  can  make  available? 

"B.  The  result.  The  anxieties  of  the  last 
three  months  have  prevented  my  keeping  the 
run  of  accts.  I  have  not  had  time  enough  or 
tranquillity  enough  scarcely  to  do  my  writing. 


140  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

If  the  result  be  at  the  end  of  the  first  year,  to 
leave  me  with  an  increased  instead  of  diminished 
burden,  it  is  clear  that  I  cannot  go  on  at  such 
a  rate.  ...  I  am  extremely  desirous  of  know 
ing  the  real  condition  of  things,  before  the  year 
is  out  that  I  may  do  whatever  is  necessary  and 
practicable  under  the  circumstances  before  a 
2nd  year  begins."1 

A  rearrangement  at  last  was  imperative  and 
an  indenture  dated  July,  1848,  announces  Gra 
ham's  withdrawal  from  the  firm;  and  another  in 
August,  a  reorganization  under  the  name  of 
McMichael  &  Bird.  Graham's  share  was  halved 
and  bought  by  Elijah  Van  Syckel  and  Thomas 
McElrath.  The  stipulations  of  the  indenture  seem 
expressly  designed  to  prevent  another  situation 
like  that  just  concluded,  and  call  for  an  equal 
division  of  labor  and  books  of  accounts  kept  at 
the  place  of  business  wherein  "true  and  perfect 
entries  shall  be  made  of  the  receipts  and  expendi 
tures." 

To  summarize  Dr.  Bird's  views  on  the  many 
questions  of  the  day,  as  expressed  in  his  editorials, 
would  be  both  difficult  and  needless.  We  find 
what  might  be  expected  of  a  loyal  American  of 
Whig  principles  and  broad  literary  culture.  If 
any  events  of  the  day  more  than  others  made  him 
feel  sharply  and  write  strongly  they  were,  first  of 
all,  our  relations  with  England.  Ever  since  his  own 

1 1  have  slightly  altered  the  original  document,  which  reads : 
...     A.     The  circumstances  ...        2.     The  result. 


JOURNALISM  141 

early  humiliation  at  the  hands  of  Bulwer  and  the 
English  bookmen,  his  attitude  toward  England 
was  one  of  stout  independence.  He  sharply  re 
sented  England's  condescension  towards  America 
as  to  an  upstart  nation.  Our  swift  advance  in 
culture  as  well  as  in  the  industrial  arts  she  was 
forced  to  admit.  Yet  she  always  fell  back  with 
galling  complacency  upon  her  age  as  a  point  of 
unattainable  superiority.  Her  self-righteousness 
never  ceased  to  fire  him,  and  yet  he  questioned  her 
political  good  faith.  How  could  she  chide  us  as 
she  did  for  our  aggression  in  Cuba  in  the  face  of 
her  own  in  Asiatic  Burmah  ?  How  could  she  pro 
pose  a  Tri-Partite  Treaty  between  France,  United 
States,  and  herself  regarding  Cuba  when  only  three 
years  before  she  had  agreed  to  a  similar  arrange 
ment  touching  Central  America  and  was  at  that 
moment  violating  it  ?  Again  the  affairs  of  Mexico 
were  with  Dr.  Bird  a  frequent  theme.  Then  as 
now  Mexico  was  writhing  in  the  throes  of  war  and 
insurrection.  President  Arista  had  resigned  his 
authority  in  despair;  there  was  no  such  thing  as 
patriotism  in  the  country;  no  aptitude  for  self- 
government.  Would  she-  become  the  prey  of 
England,  France  or  Spain?  Toward  Mexico  Bird's 
attitude  was  always  sympathetic;  he  realized  her 
great  resources;  and  pitied  her  degradation. 
Again,  John  M.  Clayton  and  the  famous  treaty 
that  bore  his  name  were  frequent  themes.  In 
1851,  it  is  to  be  recalled,  the  treaty  was  invidiously 
attacked  and  the  whole  of  Taylor's  administration 


H2  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

involved.  In  behalf  of  Clayton  and  his  treaty, 
Bird  wrote  one  telling  appeal  after  another, 
zealously  vindicating  the  wisdom  and  character 
of  his  friend.  Finally,  running  through  Bird's 
editorials  is  a  strong  and  intelligent  advocacy  of 
local  affairs,  of  home  trade,  of  home  arts  and 
institutions.  Dr.  Bird  would  have  subscribed 
warmly  to  what  has  been  termed  "the  higher 
provincialism." 

The  style  of  these  editorials  can  be  best  brought 
to  the  reader,  perhaps,  through  quotation.  The 
following  paragraph  is  taken  from  an  editorial  of 
January  I,  1850,  entitled  The  New  Year.  Its 
quaint  eloquence,  its  mellowness,  and  its  tone  of 
sadness — possibly  a  reflection  from  Bird's  own 
life  at  the  time — are  characteristic  as  are  also  its 
perfect  ease  and  fluency. 

"At  this  season  the  mind  naturally  reverts 
to  the  past  and  recalls  whatever  of  good  or  evil 
has  marked  the  year  that  is  gone.  The  instinct 
is  a  happy  one  by  which  we  are  led  to  pause,  as 
it  were,  at  certain  stages  of  life's  journey,  and  to 
look  back  with  a  reflective  eye  to  the  scenes  and 
incidents  encountered  on  the  way.  It  is  custom 
ary  to  regard  the  advent  of  each  year  as  an 
occasion  for  social  enjoyment;  and  accordingly 
men  observe  it  as  a  season  of  festivity.  To 
the  young,  who  are  looking  forward  to  what  lies 
before  them,  and  who  have  little  business  with 
memory,  it  is  a  pleasant  time,  and  as  they  enter 
each  year,  Hope,  like  an  angel,  waits  upon  the 
threshhold  and  promises  to  lead  through  a  fairy 


JOURNALISM  143 

world.      They  go  right  willingly  and  turn   no 
regretful  look  behind.     But  to  many  the  hour 
brings  little  pleasure  save  in  the  reflection  of  the 
happiness  of  others  and  the  recollection  of  earlier 
and  light  hearted  years.    There  is  a  spirit  in  the 
time  that  takes  us  gently  by  the  hand  and  leads 
us  back  over  the  once  shining  track  of  our  young 
days,  and  points  to  many  a  hope,  and  joy,  and 
fair  promise  that  have  perished  like  the  blooms 
of  Spring,  hopes  and  joys  that  we  know  we  shall 
find  no  more,  upon  all  the  Earth  forever.      For 
the  seasons  may  renew  "the  lilies  of  the  valley,  " 
but  they  can  never  bring  back  to  our  hearts  the 
blisses  and  affections  of  youth.     At  times  like 
this,  we  may  from  the  lifeless  leaves  catch  some 
faint  hint  of  the  once  surpassing  sweetness  of 
the  flower,  but  all  that  is  left  us  besides,  is  regret 
ful  retrospection.     For  many  of  us,  therefore, 
the  hour  has  something  of  melancholy.     Yet  he 
who  in  a  spirit  of  self-examination  reviews  the 
past  may  gather  from  its  lessons  a  wholesome 
philosophy,  which  must  make  him  both  wiser 
and  happier  in  the  future.      Let  us  all  then, 
today,  make  up  our  account  with  the  year  that 
has  closed,  and  so  listen  to  its  admonitions  that 
we  may  turn  to  our  improvement  the  discipline 
of  experience.     In  this  manner  we  may  extract 
blessings  even  from  misfortune,  and  learn  how 
"sweet"  indeed  "are  the  uses  of  adversity." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LAST  DAYS 

IT  seemed  inevitable  that  Dr.  Bird's  facile 
powers  and  a  spendthrift  willingness  to  place  them 
at  the  use  of  others  should  sooner  or  later  make  him 
the  victim  of  drudgery.  He  did  tasks  with  an  ease 
that  belied  their  magnitude  and  invited  further 
imposition.  ' '  I  do,  I  may  say,  "  he  writes  to  Clay 
ton,  "all  the  writing  of  the  paper  (the  Judge  has 
scarcely  furnished  three  articles  in  three  months) 
and  my  whole  time  from  8  A.M.  to  i  next  A.M. 
every  day  is  laboriously  occupied  in  my  duties; 
and  relaxation  or  pleasure  of  any  kind  are  things 
I  never  know."  One  wonders  why  a  man  who 
assuredly  knew  the  risks  he  ran  of  serious  damage 
to  his  health  should  have  shown  so  total  a  dis 
regard.  Any  answer  must  be  of  course  conjectural, 
but  one  reason,  it  seems,  was  the  financial  obliga 
tions  the  business  had  laid  upon  him.  To  meet  the 
interest  of  a  loan  Clayton  had  generously  made, 
seemed  a  point  of  honor  that  caused  him  the 
deepest  anxiety,  so -concerned  was  he  lest  their 
friendship  should  incur  a  strain.  To  this  obliga 
tion  and  the  absolute  necessity  of  meeting  it  he 

144 


LAST  DAYS  145 

refers  again  and  again  in  his  jottings.  And  then, 
of  course,  Dr.  Bird  was  of  the  type  of  man,  whose 
energies  grew  with  the  demand  upon  them.  Hard 
work  rather  stirred  fresh  effort  than  discouraged 
him.  Only  the  premonitions  of  a  breakdown  led 
him  to  slacken  his  pace  and  take  occasional  diver 
sions  mostly  in  the  shape  of  short  visits  to  Buena 
Vista,  Clayton's  farm  in  Delaware.  From  here  he 
writes  to  his  wife,  April,  1852:  "It  is  so  agreeable 
and  yet  so  tiresome  to  feed  the  chickens,  and  look 
at  distant  prospects  which  I  can't  see  without  eye 
glasses  or  spy  glasses."  Again  in  July:  "I  am  the 
more  pleased  to  see  Fred  this  afternoon  as  it  gives 
me  the  opportunity  of  sending  you  word  that  I  am 
doing  extremely  well  and  am  decidedly  improving 
by  the  air,  exercise  and  eggs  of  Buena  Vista.  Mr. 
C.  is  very  kind  and  wishes  me  to  stay  all  summer." 
Again  in  September:  "I  received,  th  s  afternoon,  a 
letter  from  Mr.  Clayton  requesting  me  in  so  urgent 
a  manner  to  go  down  to  see  him  on  some  business 
which  he  represents  as  of  great  importance  to  him 
that  I  do  not  see  how  I  can  well  avoid  it;  and  I 
think  it  not  improbable,  therefore,  that  I  shall  run 
down  on  Saturday  to  return,  I  hope,  on  Monday." 
From  his  letters  it  is  clear  these  visits  were  fairly 
frequent. 

Although  Dr.  Bird's  interest  in  the  works  of  his 
pen  had  greatly  flagged,  he  did  make  occasional 
efforts  to  copyright  his  plays  and  to  revise  his 
novels.  In  January,  1851,  he  had  consulted  Clay 
ton  about  the  legality  of  Forrest's  possession  of  his 


146  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

dramas.  But  nothing,  it  seems,  could  be  done. 
"It  would  be  a  difficult  thing,"  Clayton  writes, 
"to  give  any  correct  opinion  about  the  effect  of 
your  contract  with  E.  Forrest,  because  if  I  under 
stand  you,  you  have  no  written  contract  and  your 
only  witness,  poor  McClellan,  is  dead.  You  have 
suffered  him  to  take  copies  of  your  tragedies. 
What  have  you  in  writing,  or  what  evidence  have 
you  by  letter  or  otherwise  ?  If  you  sold  him  a  right 
in  your  plays,  what  proof  have  you  that  it  was  not 
an  absolute  and  unlimited  right?  It  appears  to 
me  that  if  you  have  suffered  him  to  take  copies  of 
the  plays  and  act  them,  you  will  have  a  great  deal 
of  trouble  to  get  anything  out  of  him,  no  matter 
what  he  does  with  them,  unless  you  can  prove  that 
the  right  sold  to  him  was  a  mere  right  in  him  to  act 
them,  and  not  transferable  to  others.  The  length 
of  time  he  has  had  them  tends  to  strengthen  his 
claim.  The  copyright  ought  to  be  secured  to 
yourself."1  He  was  also  planning  anew  edition 

1  Forrest's  views  in  the  matter  may  be  gathered  from  the 
following  letter  written  years  later  to  Dr.  Bird's  son,  who  was 
planning  to  publish  the  plays. 

"PHILADELPHIA,  October  i,  1869. 
"  Mr.  FREDERIC  M.  BIRD, 
"DEAR  SIR, 

"  The  heirs  of  the  late  Dr.  R.  M.  Bird  have  neither 
right,  title,  nor  any  legal  interest  whatever  in  the  plays  written 
by  him  for  me,  viz. :  The  Gladiator,  The  Broker  of  Bogota,  and 
the  play  of  Oralloossa. 

"  These  plays  are  my  exclusive  property  by  the  right  of  pur 
chase,  and  for  many  years  by  the  law  of  copyright. 

"  Yours  respectfully, 

"EDWIN    FORREST." 


LAST  DAYS  147 

of  his  romances  and  in  the  spring  was  at  work  on 
Nick  oj  the  Woods.  Pressure  of  business,  however, 
prevented  its  completion,  and  in  November,  1852, 
he  was  still  negotiating  with  Mr.  Redfield,  when 
"ill  health  and  the  peremptory  commands  of  my 
medical  friends  "  forced  him  to  go  West. * 

In  January,  1853,  George  H.  Boker  consulted 
Dr.  Bird  regarding  a  Dramatic  Authors'  Bill, 
which  he  was  endeavoring  to  have  Congress  pass. 
As  the  subject  is  of  interest  in  itself,  and  the  letter 
is  Bird's  last  recorded  utterance  regarding  the 
dramatist's  profession,  summarizing  his  own  early 
experience,  it  is  given  in  full.  The  last  paragraph 
is  of  especial  autobiographical  interest. 

PHILADELPHIA,  Jan.  31,  1853. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  BOKER: 

If  I  might  advise  you  as  to  a  Dramatic 
Authors'  Bill,  I  should  say  by  all  means  go  to 
Washington,  and  endeavor  to  enlist  the  feelings 
of  a  few  leading  members  of  the  House  in  its 
favor.  The  weakness  of  the  bill — or  of  the 
Cause  it  represents  (which  is  also  or  ought  to  be, 
its  strength) — is  that  nobody  cares  anything 
about  it  one  way  or  the  other, — except  yourself, 
the  four  or  five  dramatic  writers  who,  like  you, 
have  courage  still  to  labor  in  a  service  surrounded 
by  so  many  discouragements,  and  myself,  who 

1  Referring  to  his  business  worries  at  this  time,  Dr.  Bird  says: 
"  I  should  not  let  these  things  trouble  me  so  much,  if  they  did  not 
interfere  with  my  writing;  to  do  which  one  ought  to  have  a 
composed  and  quiet  mind.  The  brain-machine  is  as  delicate  as  a 
chronometer;  it  takes  but  a  little  shake  to  put  it  out  of  order." 


148  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

have  reason  to  remember,  from  the  experience 
of  former  years,  the  injurious  workings  of  the  ex 
isting  system.  The  dramatic  interest  is — and  as 
long  as  the  acting  right  in  a  play  is  not  recognized 
by  law  will  remain — so  utterly  insignificant  that 
members  of  Congress  cannot  be  expected  to 
trouble  themselves,  or  even  think  about  the  bill, 
to  ask  what  it  means  and  what  object  it  is  to 
subserve  unless  some  one  like  yourself,  who 
might  claim  the  kindly  personal  consideration 
due  to  the  gentleman  and  literary  man  should 
devote  a  few  days  to  the  duty  of  explanation  and 
advocacy.  Nobody  knows  or  cares  anything 
about  the  measure;  but  on  the  other  hand,  no 
body  that  I  know  of  makes  any  objection  to 
it.  There  is  absolutely  no  opposing  interest. 
Neither  managers  nor  actors  have  any  interest 
against  it;  nor  have  publishers  or  readers.  To 
every  person  except  the  dramatic  writer  alone, 
it  makes  no  difference  whether  the  law  passes 
or  fails.  Some  advantage  would  result  from  it 
to  all.  The  theaters  would  have  more  new  plays 
to  produce — the  publishers  more  copy  to  print 
—the  public  more  books  to  read.  The  imme 
diate  advantage  to  writers  would  be  not  unim 
portant  to  them  pecuniarily — though  no  one 
would  be  taxed  in  consequence;  while  the  great 
benefit  would  result  in  the  power  the  author 
would  have  of  publication  without  thereby 
divesting  himself  of  his  property — the  only 
property  of  any  real  value  in  a  play,  as  you  so 
well  know,  lying  in  the  right  of  representation. 
The  want  of  recognition  in  the  copyright  act  of 
the  right  of  representation  compels  authors  to 
keep  their  plays  in  manuscript,  and  confine 
their  use  to  a  single  act  or  manager.  The  market 
is  shut  up — ,  the  field  of  literary  adventure  is 


LAST  DAYS  149 

barred;  the  writer's  only  means  of  communica 
tion  with  the  world  is  through  the  rantings  and 
blunderirigs  of  illiterate  companies.  No  wonder 
so  few  American  poets  are  willing  to  try  their 
fortune  on  the  stage  where  the  risk  is  great  and 
the  condition  of  Success  is  the  surrender  of 
every  aspiration  for  literary  fame.  Had  there 
been  a  Dramatic  Authors'  Law  in  Shakespeare's 
day,  we  should  have  had  his  plays  revised  and 
corrected  by  himself  and  published  during  his 
life.  He  made  his  money  by  acting  them,  and 
could  not  afford,  by  publication,  to  surrender 
the  privilege  to  rival  theaters. 

When  it  is  remembered  that  all  the  European 
governments  have  by  law  recognized  the  authors' 
right  of  representation  in  compositions  designed 
for  representation;  that  the  bill  now  before  the 
House  is  adverse  to  no  interest  and  is  opposed 
by  no  person,  out  of  the  House — that  it  cannot 
possibly  do  any  harm  or  wrong  to  any  human 
being — that  it  may  have  as  it  is  likely  to  have,  a 
good  effect  in  stimulating  the  efforts  of  men  of 
genius  in  the  United  States  in  the  drama, — a 
branch  of  literature  more  neglected  among  us 
than  any  other, — and  that  those  members  who 
may  take  a  leading  part  in  procuring  its  passage 
are  very  likely  to  be  remembered  with  gratitude 
by  those  whose  gratitude  is  sometimes  immor 
tality  it  is  hardly  to  be  supposed — at  least  I 
cannot  suppose — the  bill  will  meet  any  opposi 
tion,  should  the  Committee  being  in  charge 
report  favorably,  and  one  or  two  members  say 
a  good  word  in  its  behalf.  If  it  goes  to  the 
Senate,  I  feel  satisfied  it  will  not  meet  with  any 
difficulty  there. 

I  have  not  thought  it  necessary  in  writing  you 
this  note  to  say  anything  about  my  personal 


ISO  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

experience — now  almost  an  old  world  recollec 
tion — of  matters  bearing  on  the  question  you 
have  at  heart.  I  do  not  think,  however,  that 
my  experience  would  be  found  to  differ  from 
yours.  I  do  not  know  that  this  bill  if  it  became 
a  law  would  ever  be  of  any  benefit  to  me;  but  I 
am  very  sure,  if  there  had  been  such  a  law  in 
existence  twenty  years  ago,  I  should  not  have 
abandoned  dramatic  writing,  as  I  did,  in  what 
was  the  moment  of  Success  and  the  period  of 
youthful  vigor  and  enthusiasm.  I  have  enough 
of  the  old  leaven  to  feel  a  sympathy  in  the  cause 
—(eleven  or  twelve  years  ago  as  I  once  men 
tioned  to  you  I  endeavored  having  an  attack  of 
the  old  ardor  Scribendi)  to  get  such  a  bill  in 
troduced  into  Congress,  but,  it  being  near  the 
close  of  the  session,  I  laid  it  over  for  next  year, 
by  which  time,  my  attention  was  absorbed  by 
other  matters;  and,  while  doubting  whether  I 
shall  ever  again  feel  any  ambition  to  delight  the 
groundlings,  I  am  desirous  that  you  and  others 
who  will  rise  around  you  may  escape  the  evils 
of  the  discouraging  system  under  which  I 
suffered 

GEORGE  H.  BOKER.  ROBT.  BIRD. 

The  spring  and  summer  of  1853  again  brought 
their  return  of  ill  health.  In  March,  in  July,  in 
October,  and  November,  Dr.  Bird  was  at  the  point 
of  a  breakdown  to  avert  which  he  went  West, 
then  to  Cape  May,  and  finally  to  the  Delaware 
Water  Gap  for  a  month  in  the  late  summer  and 
early  fall.  From  the  Kittatinny  House  he  sent 
four  editorials,  describing  the  Gap  and  its  environs, 


LAST  DAYS  151 

that  appeared  in  The  North  American,  August  loth, 
August  25th,  September  2d,  and  September  8th. 
With  the  approach  of  the  year  1854,  certain 
changes  in  the  conduct  of  the  paper  were  suggested ; 
among  others,  the  paper  was  to  be  enlarged;  a 
one-sixth  share  in  the  business  was  for  sale  and  to 
exchange  hands.  To  the  first  of  these  changes  Dr. 
Bird  was  strongly  and  unreservedly  opposed.  It 
entailed  added  labor  and  expense,  would  probably 
impair  the  quality  of  the  paper,  and  would  cer 
tainly  reduce  the  profits.  Regarding  the  second, 
he  objected  to  any  exchange  which  had  in  it  an 
element  of  dishonesty  and  should  lay  the  firm 
open  to  the  charge  of  double  dealing.  He  himself 
had  refused  to  purchase  the  share  at  a  cut  figure 
believing  it  dishonest  to  buy  it.  Upon  a  chance 
examination  of  the  firm's  accounts  he  found  a 
state  of  affairs  that  must  be  regarded  as  a  directly 
contributing  cause  of  his  death.  The  share  in 
question  had  been  secretly  disposed  of;  fake  entries 
of  expenditures  and  receipts  had  been  made  to  his 
disadvantage;  and  the  paper  against  his  wish  and 
without  his  knowledge  was  being  enlarged.  The 
pain  of  misplaced  friendship  in  conjunction  with 
prolonged  overwork  brought  on  in  January,  1854, 
the  fatal  attack  of  ' ' effusion  on  the  brain. " ' 


1  "  (Dr.  Bird)  wore  himself  out  in  the  service  of  The  North 
American.  Its  labors  and  more  especially  its  troubles  killed  him. 
Of  this  I  am  as  firmly  convinced  as  that  I  survive  him,  and  that 
he  was  cut  off  just  as  he  was  beginning  to  reap  the  reward  of  his 
toil."  Mrs.  Bird  to  Dr.  E.  R.  Mayer,  July  5,  1854. 


152  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

The  death  of  Dr.  Bird  is  thus  described  by  Dr. 
Edward  R.  Mayer,  his  brother-in-law,  in  a  letter 
to  the  Hon.  John  M.  Clayton,  January  24,  1854, 
the  day  after : 

"You  know  that  Dr.  Bird  had  suffered  re 
peatedly  in  the  last  two  years  from  attacks  of 
illness  of  a  kind  calculated  to  depress  his  mind 
and  lessen  the  activity  of  all  his  vital  powers. 
These  were  the  occasion  of  much  distress  and 
anxiety  to  him  not  from  any  unworthy  fear  of 
pain,  sickness,  or  death,  but  from  his  tender 
solicitude  for  the  welfare  of  those  who  would  be 
left  behind  him.  These  fears  and  a  life  of  occu 
pation  of  a  sedentary  kind  brought  about  the 
result,  which  they  made  him  apprehend  and 
guard  against.  Since  the  first  days  of  the  present 
year,  he  had  been  confined  to  his  home  by  a 
slight  illness  which  did  not  attract  much  atten 
tion  or  prevent  him  from  writing  a  daily  editor 
ial  until  Saturday  the  I4th  instant,  when  he 
became  more  seriously  ill.  It  was  then  dis 
covered  that  he  had  been  through  his  illness 
morbidly  anxious  and  concerned  about  business 
matters,  and  that  intense  mental  excitement 
acting  upon  a  brain  already  weakened  by  de 
pressing  causes  had  developed  dangerous  dis 
ease.  During  the  early  part  of  last  week  he 
became  more  enfeebled  in  body  and  mind,  and 
his  thoughts  began  to  wander. 

"Perfectly  passive  and  gentle,  still  conscious 
of  his  condition  and  with  the  presentiment  that 
death  was  upon  him,  all  the  affections  of  his 
fervent,  loving  nature  gushed  out  in  words  of 
endearment  to  his  wife  and  child.  Even  his 
moments  of  delirium  showed  his  ever  present 


LAST  DAYS  153 

dread  of  the  future  that  awaited  those  so  near 
and  dear  to  him,  while  not  a  word  indicated  a 
feeling  of  fear  for  himself  or  a  thought  incom 
patible  with  his  unselfish  and  generous  nature. 

"On  Wednesday  he  became  much  worse  and 
I  secured  for  him  the  valuable  counsel  of  Pro 
fessor  Wood,  who  continued  to  visit  him  with 
me  to  the  last.  Notwithstanding  active  and 
appropriate  treatment,  he  became  daily  worse 
and  after  sinking  rapidly  through  the  night  of 
Sunday,  he  died  yesterday  morning  at  9.00  of 
effusion  on  the  brain." 

Dr.  Bird  died,  then,  Monday,  January  23,  1854, 
at  his  home  No.  60  Filbert  Street,  Philadelphia.^ 
His  malady  was  the  same  as  that  which  carried 
Thackeray  to  his  grave.  He  was  buried  Thursday, 
January  26th,  in  Laurel  Hill  Cemetery,  Philadel 
phia.  He  died,  according  to  Dr.  Mayer,  intestate, 
leaving  an  estate  which  consisted  "of  a  small  lot 
of  ground  in  New  Castle  yielding  no  revenue,  and 
of  personal  property  which  includes  one  third 
share  of  The  North  American  and  Gazette  and  the 
right  to  a  very  small  income  from  such  of  the  works 
of  the  deceased  as  may  be  published  or  republished 
hereafter.  This  estate  is  burdened  with  a  debt  of 
more  than  $20,000  to  yourself  (Clayton)  and  of 
$2000  to  a  brother  of  Dr.  Bird's."1 

Robert  Montgomery  Bird  has  been  dead  sixty- 
four  years.  That  would  not  be  a  long  time  for  one 
whose  name  is  to  live  on  the  lips  of  men ;  it  is  amply 

1  Dr.  E.  R.  Mayer  to  John  M.  Clayton. 


154  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

long  to  make  possible  a  just  assessment  of  the  man 
and  his  works.  The  rights  of  personal  acquain 
tanceship  and  affection  have  long  since  been 
honored.  We  are  in  a  position  to  appraise  the  man 
apart  as  well  as  in  relation  to  his  time. 

It  cannot  be  said  today  that  the  name  of  Dr. 
Bird  has  become  either  widely  or  generally  known ; 
it  can  be  said  confidently  that  he  is  far  from  en 
tirely  forgotten.  To  the  student  of  our  native 
literature  he  holds  a  place  of  acknowledged  im 
portance.  Biographical  dictionaries  and  histories 
of  American  literature  with  any  aim  at  complete 
ness  can  ill  afford  to  omit  an  account  of  his  life. 
Any  selection  of  representative  plays  or  novels 
would  do  well  to  include  work  from  his  pen.  In 
many  libraries  and  literary  clubs  of  the  city  of  his 
adoption,  his  portrait, — a  noble  face,  handsome 
though  resembling  in  general  feature  that  of 
Thackeray, — is  not  infrequently  seen.  But  the 
name  of  Robert  Montgomery  Bird  today  is  com 
paratively  seldom  heard.  And  yet,  the  writer 
strongly  feels  this  partial  disesteem  is  the  more 
undeserved  because  the  works  of  Bird  are  with 
many  still  living  a  vivid  recollection.  It  is  sur 
prising  how  many  of  the  generation  that  is  passing 
well  recall  the  glory  of  Spartacus  in  the  hands  of 
Edwin  Forrest,  John  McCullough,  and  Robert 
Downing;  or  whose  imaginations  still  kindle  at 
the  thought  of  the  Jibbenainosay  in  Nick  of  the 
Woods.  The  writer  was  time  and  again  struck 
with  the  number  of  older  men,  kind  enough  to 


LAST  DAYS  155 

answer  his  inquiries,  who  read  these  romances  of 
Bird  "many  golden  years  ago"  and  still  retain  a 
sharp  impression  of  the  characters  and  their 
plights. J  These  they  well  remembered ;  the  name 
of  the  author  they  frequently  forgot.  This  fact, 
a  divorce  of  the  man  from  his  works,  marked  the 
whole  career  of  Dr.  Bird.  In  Europe  he  naturally 
fared  no  better.  In  England  each  of  his  romances, 
as  we  have  seen,  was  given  at  least  one  edition. 
Some  of  them  with  altered  titles  sold  through 
successive  editions.  They  may  possibly  have 
extended  his  reputation,  but  they  brought  him  no 
substantial  return.  The  only  acknowledgment 
of  his  claim  as  author  that  he  received  from  Eng 
lish  bookmen  was  "four  handsomely  printed 
volumes  (of  Calavar)  under  the  title  of  Abdalla, 
the  Moor."2  Nick  of  the  Woods  in  its  German 
version  had,  according  to  Mrs.  Bird,  a  sale  of  over 
ten  thousand  copies.  This  romance  still  occasion 
ally  issues  from  the  American  and  English  press 
in  popular  form.  So  it  can  be  said  also  that  if  the 
demand  for  Dr.  Bird's  works  has  dwindled,  it  has 
not  entirely  ceased.  It  remains  briefly  to  conclude 
regarding  the  place  of  Robert  Montgomery  Bird 
among  American  men  of  letters. 

In  more  ways  than  one  Dr.  Bird  is  to  be  regarded 
as  a  pioneer.     He  was  a  professional  writer  in 

1  The  late    Hon.    Samuel  W.    Penny-packer,    ex-governor  of 
Pennsylvania,  is  reported  to  have  made  the  statement  that  "as 
a  boy  he  sat  up  all  night  over  Bird's  Nick  of  the  Woods" 

2  Notes  of  Mrs.  Bird. 


156  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

America  before  writing  was  a  well-established 
profession.  True,  a  long  list  of  men  had  preceded 
him,  who  wrote  and  wrote  well,  but  with  few 
exceptions  they  were  theologians,  teachers,  diplo 
mats,  or  journalists,  who  employed  the  pen,  to 
use  an  old  figure,  as  a  staff  to  walk  with  rather 
than  a  prop.  Bird  like  Brockden  Brown,  and  not 
much  later  than  he,  deliberately  abandoned  a 
profession  to  adopt  literature  as  a  career.  In  this 
sense,  too,  Bird  was  a  pioneer  playwright,  the  most 
considerable  of  that  group  called  forth  by  the 
munificence  of  Edwin  Forrest  to  lay  what  he  hoped 
might  prove  the  groundwork  of  a  dramatic  litera 
ture  in  America.  He  wrote  the  greatest  number 
of  Forrest's  prize  plays,  and  his  work  among  his 
competitors  has  the  strongest  claims  to  perman 
ence.  Furthermore,  he  set  about  the  work  with  an 
originality  all  his  own.  To  be  sure,  he  kept  before 
him  Elizabethan  models  of  construction;  but  his 
central  aim  in  The  Gladiator  was  to  fashion  a  part 
which  should  fit  and  display  the  individuality  of 
the  first  American  tragedian  of  his  day.  The  per 
fection  of  that  fit  is  amply  attested  by  Forrest's 
lifelong  success  with  the  play.  In  Oralloossa  and 
The  Broker  of  Bogota  as  well  as  in  Calavar  and 
The  Infidel,  he  still  showed  pioneer  tendencies  in 
pushing  forth  for  his  material,  into  regions  and 
periods  of  history  hitherto  untouched  in  fiction. 

But  what  of  Bird's  accomplishment,  judged  if 
one  may  use  the  phrase,  by  the  national  standard 
of  achievement?  To  apply  the  absolute  and  to 


LAST  DAYS  157 

compare  him  with  the  greatest  that  have  said  and 
sung  is  needlessly  to  belittle  him.  The  final 
appraisement  of  course  must  rest  on  the  plays 
and  romances.  His  verse,  abundant  and  facile 
though  it  is,  has  little  claim  to  serious  considera 
tion  ;  it  was  written  hastily,  largely  for  the  fun  of 
the  thing,  and  unwillingly  owned  by  Dr.  Bird 
himself.  His  contributions  to  the  magazines  were 
fragmentary  and  occasional;  his  editorials  and 
medical  writings  belong  elsewhere.  It  is  by  his 
plays  and  novels  that  we  must  remember  him  if 
remembered  he  is  to  be.  Of  his  plays,  then,  judged 
by  the  level  of  American  achievement  in  drama, 
four  deserve  preservation,  Pelopidas,  The  Gladia 
tor,  Oralloossa,  and  The  Broker  of  Bogota.  Of  these 
the  second  and  the  fourth  have  permanently 
enriched  our  dramatic  literature:  The  Gladiator, 
because  of  its  superb  representation  of  physical 
realism,  its  expert  portrayal  of  elemental  man,  its 
effective  adaptation  to  a  great  actor  of  a  certain 
type,  and  because  of  one  scene  that  all  but  reaches 
a  height  of  first  power  judged  by  what  standard  we 
will ;  The  Broker  oj  Bogota,  for  its  efficient  construc 
tion,  its  general  acting  qualities,  and  for  the  part  of 
Baptist  a  Febro,  a  character  of  remarkable  veracity 
and  scope, — hale,  courteous,  plain,  outspoken, 
strong,  yet  weak  through  years  and  overpowering 
affection.  It  is  to  be  recalled,  too,  that  these  two 
plays  proved  their  dramatic  worth  on  many  stages 
in  America  and  England  as  well.  The  part  played 
by  The  Gladiator  in  the  fame  and  fortune  of  Edwin 


158  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

Forrest  we  have  seen.  It  was  the  play  in  which 
John  McCullough  first  appeared  as  an  established 
star,  and  by  a  coincidence  the  last  he  ever  acted. x 
The  prose  romances  of  Dr.  Bird,  too,  represent  a 
solid  achievement.  They  belong,  it  is  true,  to  a 
category  which  precludes  them  from  the  rank  of 
those  great  novels  that  bring  to  their  readers  a 
world  message.  Like  many  of  Scott  and  Cooper 
they  are  essentially  boys'  books.  A  fresh  illumina 
tion  of  the  meaning  of  life  is  not  their  aim.  And 
yet  they  have  just  claims  to  virtues  that  should 
once  and  for  all  discourage  invidious  comparisons, 
as  have  been  made,  between  them  and  the  '  dime- 
novel."  Like  those  of  his  two  great  forerunners 
and  no  less  than  theirs,  the  novels  of  Dr.  Bird 
represent  conscientious  workmanship.  This  work 
manship  in  the  case  of  his  Mexican  romances  was 
carried  to  such  a  point  of  accuracy  as  to  win  com 
mendation  from  expert  historians  of  the  period. 
"Dr.  Bird  in  his  picturesque  romance  of  Calavar, " 
saysPrescott  in  his  Conquest  of  Mexico,  "has  studied 
with  great  care  the  costume,  manners,  and  military 
uses  of  the  natives.  He  has  done  for  them  what 
Cooper  has  done  for  the  wild  tribes  of  the  North,— 
touched  their  rude  features  with  the  bright  color 
ing  of  a  poetic  fancy.  He  has  been  equally  for 
tunate  in  his  delineation  of  the  picturesque  scenery 
of  the  land."2  Again  the  novels  of  Dr.  Bird  with- 

1  For  an  account  of  McCullough  as  Spartacus  see  Winter,  The 
Wallet  of  Time,  vol.  i.,  pp.  271-273.  He  first  played  the  part  in 
New  York,  May  4,  1874.  *  Vol.  ii.,  p.  336,  footnote. 


LAST  DAYS  159 

out  exception  of  a  single  chapter  are  thoroughly 
wholesome.  A  perfect  purity  sweetens  every 
page.  His  characters  have  a  hardihood  and 
strength  that  invigorate  like  those  of  Scott's.  The 
scenes  of  his  novels  are  often  in  mountain  passes 
and  malarial  swamps;  their  concern,  mainly  with 
the  roughest  adventure;  but  his  men  and  women 
are  free  from  the  slightest  taint  of  pruriency.  They 
are  often  cruel,  barbarous,  deceptive;  they  are 
always  robust,  elemental,  wholesome.  And  finally 
there  is  the  tribute  of  the  style  of  these  books, 
undeniably  diffuse  and  prolix  at  times,  but  often 
neat,  fluent,  melodious,  vividly  pictorial  and  dra 
matically  intense. 

Finally,  of  Dr.  Bird's  lovable  character  as  a  man, 
of  his  extraordinary  capacity  for  friendship,  of  his 
idealism,  and  the  princely  qualities  of  his  heart, 
there  can  be  no  better  statement  than  that  of  a 
contemporary  and  associate,  who  at  the  time  of  his 
death  thus  wrote  of  Dr.  Bird.  After  mention  of  his 
rich  endowments  he  continues:  ''Nor  had  nature 
been  less  munificent  in  the  qualities  of  his  heart — 
which  was  great  with  great  virtues— chivalric  in 
its  courage,  soft  in  its  gentleness,  liberal,  loyal, 
loving.  It  is  a  grief  to  lose,  from  the  scenes  of  life, 
such  a  nature;  but  it  is  a  triumph  that  such  a 
nature  has  lived,  and  been  with  and  of  us,  and  shall, 
we  trust,  be  so  again." L 

1  The  North  American  and  United  States  Gazette,  January  24, 
1854- 


APPENDIX  A 

The  following  is  a  list  of  the  American  and  European  editions 
of  Bird's  romances,  in  the  order  of  their  writing. 

AMERICAN   EDITIONS 

Calavar:  or,  The  Knight  of  the  Conquest;  a  romance  of  Mexico. 
Philadelphia,  Carey,  Lea  &  Blanchard,  1834.  2  vols.  12°. 

[Another  Edition.]     1837. 

Calavar;  or,  The  Knight  of  the  Conquest;  a  romance  of  Mexico. 
By  R.  M.  Bird.  A  new  ed.  Philadelphia,  Lea  &  Blan 
chard,  1847.  2  vols. 

Calavar,  a  Romance  of  Mexico.  New  York,  J.  S.  Redfield, 
1854.  12°. 

Calavar,  The  Knight  of  the  Conquest.     111.     W.  J.  Widdleton,  1 876 . 

12°. 

The  Infidel;  or,  The  Fall  of  Mexico.  A  romance.  By  the  author 
of  Calavar.  Philadelphia,  Carey,  Lea  &  Blanchard,  1835. 
2  vols.  12°. 

The  Hawks  of  Hawk  Hollow.  A  tradition  of  Pennsylvania.  By 
the  author  of  Calavar.  Philadelphia,  Carey,  Lea  &  Blan 
chard,  1835.  2  vols.  12°. 

Sheppard  Lee.  Written  by  himself.  New  York,  Harper  & 
Brothers,  1836.  2  vols. 

Nick  of  the  Woods,  or,  The  Jibbenainosay.  A  tale  of  Kentucky. 
By  the  author  of  Calavar.  Philadelphia,  Carey,  Lea  & 
Blanchard,  1837.  2  vols.  12°. 

Nick  of  the  Woods;  or,  The  Jibbenainosay.  A  tale  of  Kentucky. 
By  Robert  Montgomery  Bird.  A  new  ed.,  rev.  by  the 
author.  New  York,  J.  S.  Redfield,  1853.  2  pt.  12°. 

Nick  of  the  Woods;  or,  The   Jibbenainosay.      W.  J.  Widdleton, 

1876.       12°. 

Nick  of  the  Woods.     Burrows,  1904.     12°. 

Nick  of  the  Woods.  A  story  of  the  Early  Settlers  in  Kentucky, 
A.  L.  Burt,  1905.  12°. 

11  161 


1 62   LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

Peter  Pilgrim;  or,  a  rambler's  recollections.  By  the  author  of 
Calavar,  Nick  of  the  Woods,  etc.  Philadelphia,  1838.  2 
vols.  12°. 

The  Adventures  of  Robin  Day.  By  the  author  of  Calavar.  Phila 
delphia,  Lea  &  Blanchard,  1839.  2  vols.  12°. 

The  Adventures  of  Robin  Day.  Philadelphia,  Lea,  1839.  2  vols. 
8°. 

ENGLISH   EDITIONS 

Abdalla  the  Moor  and  the  Spanish  Knight:  A  romance  of  Mexico. 
London,  Newman,  1835.  4  vols.  12°.  [The  original  title 
was  Calavar.] 

The  Infidel;  or,  The  Fall  of  Mexico,  London,  1835.     12°. 

Cortes;  or,  The  Fall  of  Mexico:  A  romance.  Bentley,  1835.  3 
vols.  12°.  [The  original  title  was  The  Infidel.] 

Cortes;  or,  The  Fall  of  Mexico.  London,  1835.  3  vols.  12°. 
[The  original  title  was  The  Infidel.] 

The  Hawks  of  Hawk  Hollow.     Bentley,  1837.     3  vols.     12°. 

The  Hawks  of  Hawk  Hollow.  By  Dr.  Bird.  London,  Ward  & 
Lock,  1856.  8°. 

Nick  of  the  Woods,  a  story  of  Kentucky.  By  the  author  of 
Spartacus,  etc.  Edited  by  W.  H.  Ainsworth,  London,  1837. 
3  vols.  8°. 

Nick  of  the  Woods.     Bentley,  1837.     3  vols.     12°. 

Nick  of  the  Woods.     London,  1854.     l6°- 

Nick  of  the  Woods;  or,  Adventures  of  Prairie  Life.  By  Robert  M. 
Bird.  London,  Ward  &  Lock,  1856. 

[Another  Edition.]     1860.     8°. 

[Another  Edition.]     1872.     12°. 

Nick  of  the  Woods;  or,  Adventures  of  Prairie  Life.  Routledge, 
1883.  8°. 

Nick  of  the  Woods;  or,  Adventures  of  Prairie  Life.  London,  Ni 
cholson.  12°.  (Contains  also  Daniel  Wise  and  Ashcourt 
Roderick.) 

Peter  Pilgrim,  a  Tale.     Bentley,  1839.     2  vols.     12°. 

GERMAN   EDITION 

Die  Gefahren  der  Wildnis.  Eine  Erzahlung  fur  die  reifere 
Jugend.  Nach  dem  Englischen  [Nick  of  the  Woods]  bear- 
beitet  von  Franz  Hoffmann.  Mit  Bildern.  Stuttgart, 
1847-  8°. 


APPENDICES  163 

APPENDIX  B 


The  following  is  a  complete  list,  chronologically  arranged,  of 
Bird's  contributions  to  magazines: 

Fount   of   Blandusia.     A   poem,    translation   from    Horace,    in 

Philadelphia  Monthly  Magazine,  October,  1827. 
Saul's  Last  Day.     A  poem  in  Philadelphia  Monthly  Magazine, 

October,  1827. 
The  Dying  Bride.     A  poem  in  Philadelphia  Monthly  Magazine, 

November,  1827.     It  is  signed  B.,  like  other  of  his  verse, 

and  is  probably  Dr.  Bird's. 
The  Miniature.     A  poem  in  Philadelphia  Monthly  Magazine, 

November,  1827. 
The  Dead  Soldier.     A  poem  in  Philadelphia  Monthly  Magazine, 

November,  1827. 
The   Death   of   Meleager.     A   poem   in   Philadelphia   Monthly 

Magazine,  December,  1827. 
Rest  in  Thine  Isle.     A  poem  in  Philadelphia  Monthly  Magazine, 

December,  1827. 
The   Ice   Island.     A   tale  in  Philadelphia   Monthly   Magazine, 

December,  1827. 
The   Spirit  of  the  Reeds.     A   story  in  Philadelphia   Monthly 

Magazine,  January,  1828. 
Friendship.     A  poem  in  Philadelphia  Monthly  Magazine,  January , 

1828. 
The  Phantom  Players.     A  tale  in  Philadelphia  Monthly  Magazine , 

May,  1828. 
Changing    Heart,    Away   from   Me.     A  poem  in  Philadelphia 

Monthly  Magazine,  July,  1828. 
To  Lyce.     A  poem,  translation  from  Horace,  in  Philadelphia 

Monthly  Magazine,  August,  1828. 
Brunette.     A  poem  in  Philadelphia  Monthly  Magazine,  August, 

1828. 
Summer.     A  poem  in  Philadelphia  Monthly  Magazine,  August, 

1828. 

The  Helots.     A  poem  in  Philadelphia  Monthly  Magazine,  Septem 
ber,  1828. 
The   Love  Sick   Minstrel.     A  poem  in  Philadelphia    Monthly 

Magazine,  September,  1828. 


1 64  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

She  opes  her  eyes  and  oh  my  bosom's  swell!     A  poem  in  New 

York  Mirror,  May,  1832. 

Mary.     A  sonnet  in  the  New  York  Mirror,  May  12,  1832. 
The  Beech  Tree.     A  poem  in  New  York  Mirror,  March,  1834. 
The  China  Tree.     A  poem  in  Knickerbocker  Magazine,  January , 

1835. 
To  Governor  M'Duffie.     A  poem  in  New  England  Magazine, 

February,  1835. 
An  Evening  Ode.     A  poem  in  Knickerbocker  Magazine,  February, 

1835,  and  also  in  The  Commercial  Herald. 
Ode  to  the  Sycamore.     Written  for  the  Buckeyes'  celebration  of 

the  47th  anniversary  of  the  Landing  at  the  mouth  of  the 

Muskingum  River,  Ohio,  April,  1835. 

Community  of  Copy-Right.     An  Article  in  Knickerbocker  Maga 
zine,  October,  1835. 
An  Address.     A  poem  in  National  Gazette,  January,  1836.     It  was 

written  for  and   delivered  at   the  Wood   Complimentary 

Benefit. 

Lament.     A  poem  in  United  States  Gazette,  April,  1837. 
The  Mammoth   Cave  of    Kentucky.      A  descriptive  article  in 

American  Monthly  Magazine,  May  and  June,  1837.     This 

was  later  incorporated  in  Peter  Pilgrim. 
A  Tale  of  a  Snag.     A  story  in  American  Monthly  Magazine, 

August,  1837.     This  was  later  incorporated  in  Peter  Pilgrim. 
The  Extra  Lodger.      A  story  in  New   York  Mirror,  November 

10,  1838.     It  had  already  appeared  in  Peter  Pilgrim. 
God  Bless  America.     A  poem. 

Romance  of  Cid  Ramon.     A  poem.     Printed  from  Calavar. 
The  Belated  Revenge.     A  story   (partly  by  Frederick  Mayer 

Bird)  in  Lippincott' s  Magazine,  November,  1889. 


APPENDIX  C 

MISCELLANEOUS   PUBLICATIONS 

Valedictory  address  delivered  before  the  graduates  of  Pennsyl 
vania  Medical  College:  session  of  1842-43.  Philadelphia, 
Merrihew,  1843.  8°. 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE  165 

A  Belated  Revenge.  Philadelphia,  Lippincott.  [This  was  begun 
by  Dr.  Bird  under  the  title  of  Ipsico  Poe,  The  Long  Hunter, 
and  written  to  Chapter  XV.,  at  which  point  his  son  took  it 
up  and  completed  it.  It  was  first  published  as  "A  Belated 
Revenge"  in  Lippincott' s  Magazine,  November,  1889.] 

The  Broker  of  Bogota,  a  tragedy  in  five  acts.  Printed  in  Quinn, 
A.  H.,  Ed.,  Representative  American  Plays.  New  York,  1917. 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

Without  pretending  to  be  exhaustive,  the  following  is  a  list 
of  readily  accessible  books  that  should  serve  as  guides  to  those 
who  desire  further  to  investigate  the  period  covered  by  Dr. 
Bird's  life. 

ADAMS,  W.  DAVENPORT.  A  Dictionary  of  the  Drama.  Philadel 
phia,  1904. 

ALGER,  WILLIAM  R.  Life  of  Edwin  Forrest.  2  volumes.  Phila 
delphia,  1877. 

BARRETT,  LAWRENCE.     Edwin  Forrest.    Boston,  1882. 

BEERS,  H.  A.  Nathaniel  Parker  Willis.  Boston,  1885.  "Amer 
ican  Men  of  Letters." 

BROWN,  T.  A.  A  History  of  the  New  York  Stage.  From  the 
First  Performance  in  1732  to  1901.  3  volumes.  New 
York,  1903. 

CAIRNS,  W.  B.  On  the  Development  of  American  Literature  from 
1815  to  1833.  With  Especial  Reference  to  Periodicals. 
Madison,  Wisconsin,  1898. 

CLARENCE,  REGINALD  T.     The  Stage  Cyclopedia.     London,  1909. 

COAD,  ORAL  SUMNER.  William  Dunlap.  Dunlap  Society 
Publications.  Series  3,  volume  2. 

CONRAD,  HENRY  CLAY.  History  of  the  State  of  Delaware.  3 
volumes.  Wilmington,  Delaware,  1908. 

DUNLAP,  WILLIAM.  History  of  American  Theatre.  New  York, 
1832.  2  volumes.  London,  1833. 

DURANG,  CHARLES.  The  Philadelphia  Stage.  From  the  year 
1749  to  the  year  1855.  Partly  compiled  from  the  papers 
of  his  father,  the  late  John  Durang;  with  notes  by  the  editors 


166  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY  BIRD 

(of  the  Philadelphia  Sunday  Dispatch).     Published  serially 

in  the  Philadelphia  Dispatch  as  follows:  First  Series,  1749- 

1821,  beginning  in  the  issue  of  May  7,  1854;  Second  Series, 

1822-1830,  beginning  June  29,   1856;  Third  Series,   1830- 

1855,  beginning  July  8,  1860. 
GRISWOLD,    R.    G.     Prose    Writers   of  America.     Philadelphia, 

1847. 
IRELAND,  J.  N.     Records  of  the  New  York  Stage,  from  1750  to 

1860.     2  volumes,  New  York,  1866-67. 
LOUNSBURY,    THOMAS    R.     James    Fenimore    Cooper.     Boston, 

1883.     "American  Men  of  Letters." 
McCuLLOUGH,    BRUCE    WELKER.     The   Life   and    Writings    of 

Richard  Penn  Smith.     With  a  Reprint   of   His   Play,   The 

Deformed,  1833.     A  Pennsylvania  Thesis,  1917. 
MOSES,  M.  J.     The  American  Dramatist.     Boston,  1911. 
MOSES,  MONTROSE  J.     Famous  Actor  Families  in  America.    New 

York,  1906. 
MURDOCH,  JAMES  E.     The  Stage,  or  Recollections  of  Actors  and 

Acting  from  an  Experience  of  Fifty    Years.     Philadelphia, 

1880. 
OBERHOLTZER,  ELLIS  PAXSON.     Philadelphia;  a  History  of  the 

City  and  Its  People,  a  Record  of  225   Years.     Philadelphia, 
'   1911. 

—  Literary  History  of  Philadelphia.     Philadelphia,  1906. 
QUINN,  ARTHUR  H.     "The  Early  Drama,  1756-1860,"  in  The 

Cambridge  History  of  American  Literature,  volume  i.,  p.  215. 

—  Representative  American  Plays.     New  York,  1917. 

REES,  JAMES.  The  Dramatic  Authors  of  America.  Philadelphia, 
1845. 

The  Life  of  Edwin  Forrest.     Philadelphia,  n.  d.  [1874]. 

SARTAIN,  JOHN.  Reminiscences  of  a  Very  Old  Man.  New  York, 
1900. 

SEILHAMER,  G.  O.  History  of  the  American  Theater.  3  volumes, 
Philadelphia,  1888-91. 

SMYTH,  A.  H.  The  Philadelphia  Magazines  and  Their  Contribu 
tors,  1741-1850.  Philadelphia,  1892. 

TRENT,  WILLIAM  P.  William  Gilmore  Simms.  Boston,  1892, 
"American  Men  of  Letters." 

TUCKERMAN.  Life  of  John  Pendleton  Kennedy.  New  York, 
1917. 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE  167 

TYSON,  J.  R.     Sketch  of  the  Wistar  Party  of  Philadelphia.     Phila 
delphia,  1898. 
WALLACK,  LESTER.     Memories  of  Fifty  Years  Ago.     New  York, 

1889. 
WEMYSS,  F.  C.     Theatrical  Biography  of  Eminent  Actors  and 

Authors.     New  York  [185-]. 
Twenty-six  Years  of  Life  of  an  Actor  Manager.     2  volumes. 

New  York,  1847. 
Chronology  of  the  American  Stage  from  1752-1852.     New 

York,  n.  d.  [1852]. 
WINTER,  WILLIAM.     The  Wallet  of  Time,  Containing  Personal, 

Biographical   and   Critical   Reminiscences   of  the   American 

Theater.     2  volumes.     New  York,  1913. 
Other  Days;  Being  Chronicles  and  Memories  of  the  Stage . 

New  York,  1908. 
Wood's  Diary.     A  Manuscript  Diary  or  Daily  Account  Book  of 

W.  B.  Wood,  in  9  volumes,  extending  from  1810  to  1835. 

(In  Library  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania.) 
WOOD,  W.  B.     Personal  Recollections  of  the  Stage  .  .  .  During  a 

Period  of  Forty  Years.     Philadelphia,  1835. 
WOODBERRY,    GEORGE    E.     Edgar    Allan   Poe.     Boston,    1885. 

"American  Men  of  Letters." 


PART  II 
DRAMATIC  WORKS 


169 


PELOPIDAS 

The  texts  of  the  following  plays  are  in  each  case 
based  on  manuscript  copies  in  the  collection  of 
Bird  papers  recently  presented  to  the  Library  of 
the  University  of  Pennsylvania  by  the  grandson 
of  the  author,  Mr.  Robert  Montgomery  Bird,  of 
Bethlehem,  Pennsylvania. 

The  present  text  of  Pelopidas  is  that  of  the  best 
and  fullest  autograph  copy  in  the  Bird  collection. 
There  are  two  other  complete  autograph  manu 
scripts  of  the  play.  Pelopidas  was  finished  in  the 
fall  of  1830.  Although  it  was  accepted  by  Edwin 
Forrest  as  a  prize-play,  it  was  never  produced  on 
the  stage. 


171 


PELOPIDAS 

OR 

THE   FALL  OF  THE   POLEMARCHS 

A  TRAGEDY 

IN  FIVE  ACTS 

1830-1840 


PELOPIDAS 
PERSONS  REPRESENTED 

LEONTIDAS,  a  Theban,  ) 

A^TJTAC  \  (    The  Polemarchs,  or  Tyrants, 

-riK^rllAo.    Jo  /• 

PHILIP,     \SPartans>     j       of  Thebes. 

PHILIDAS,  //^>  Secretary. 

MELON,  nephew  of  Philidas. 

HIPPOCLUS,  father  of  Pelopidas. 

CHARON,  a  Theban,  friend  to  Pelopidas. 

PELOPIDAS,  j 

DAMOCLIDES,         >  Theban  Patriots. 

LAON,  and  others.  ) 

HYLAS,  a  boy,  son  of  Pelopidas. 

LYCOPHRON,  son  of  Charon. 

SIBYLLA,  wife  of  Pelopidas. 

Guests,  Soldiers,  Musicians,  Dancers,  Slaves,  &c. 

SCENE — At  first,   Athens:   afterwards,    Thebes  in 
Bceotia. 


J74 


PELOPIDAS 
ACT  I 

SCENE  I.    Athens.    The  Acropolis.    (Enter  LAON, 
DAMOCLIDES,  and  other  Theban  Exiles.) 

LAON 

No  hope  for  Thebes  ?     Still  trampled  by  her  tyrants ! 

And  Athens  hath  no  arm  of  help  for  her 

That  help'd  herself  from  bonds, — no  sword  to  strike 

The  enemy  that,  of  late,  her  own  towns  master'd, 

And  ground  her  sons  in  slavery, — hated  Sparta ! 

This  is  the  virtue,  then,  of  Athens;  where, 

Scarce  lodged  and  countenanced,  scarce  guarded  from 

The  assassin  knives  with  which  our  foes  pursue  us, 

We  drag  out  painfully  a  life  of  exile, 

Martyrs  of  freedom.     No,  there  is  no  hope, 

While  Athens  still  denies  us. 

DAM. 

There  is  hope, 

Long  as  Pelopidas  is  with  us !     Yield 
All  to  despair, — while  still  I  see  his  eye 
Set  upon  yonder  mountains,  which  enclose 
Our  fallen  city,  and  in  that  eye  the  look 
Of  a  true  Greek  and  Theban,  I  will  hope, 
Though  against  hope.     Believe  me,  he  will  yet 
Move  the  Athenians. 

i75 


176  DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

LAON 

By  Minerva,  no! 

Witness  the  anger  of  her  Senators, 
When  her  brave  youth,  leaping  at  our  first  call, 
Offer 'd  their  friendly  swords  to  strike  for  Thebes; 
What  said  the  Senators? — Athens  is  at  peace, 
And  Sparta  her  ally. 

DAM. 

This  was,  good  Laon, 
Their  public  voice;  and  policy  required  it. 
They  give  Pelopidas  better  hope  in  private. 

LAON 

How  much  of  hope  ?     A  promise  to  permit 
Their  youth — the  fiery  band  that  burn  to  join  us — 
To  march  to  Thebes  when — we  have  conquer'd  it ! 
This  is  but  mockery:  Give  us  Thebes,  and  what 
Care  we  for  help  from  Athens  ? 

DAM. 

I  would,  i 'faith, 

They  were  less  politic.     But  set  thine  eye 
Upon  Pelopidas:  hope  flies  not  him: 
There's  something  stirs  within  him ;  some  brave  vision 
Is  opening  on  his  mind, — some  glorious  thought 
That  speaks  of  Thebes  and  freedom.     Yestermorn 
He  was  as  sad  as  thou,  and  on  this  rock 
Sat  weeping  for  his  country; — it  was  when 
He  heard  of  Philidas,  his  old  friend's  defection, 
(That  traitor  whom  the  Polemarchs  reward 
For  his  apostacy  with  the  highest  office 
Near  to  their  persons :)  but  at  night  I  found  him 


PELOPIDAS  177 

Transform'd  in  look  and  spirit, — no  more  an  exile 

Pining  with  sorrow,  but  a  Theban  chief, 

With  flashing  eye,  and  warrior  tread,  and  look 

Of  angry  joy; — e'en  just  the  man  I  saw  him 

On  his  first  field,  the  gory  Mantinea, 

Hewing  his  path  through  ranks  of  death,  and  winning 

That  fame  which  makes  him,  though  the  youngest 

here, 

First  of  all  Thebans.     Be  sure,  that  change  denotes  us 
Something  of  good.     Athens,  perhaps,  relents, 
And  grants  us  succour. 

LA  ON 

Would  it  were  so — But  lo ! 
Where  is  that  fire  you  boasted?    See,  how  dark 
And  wild  his  aspect ! 

DAM. 

Dark  and  wild,  I  grant  you, 

But  yet  not  mournful ! — 

(Enter  PELOPIDAS.) 

DAM. 

What,  Pelopidas! 

PELOP. 

Damoclides ! — 

Are  all  here  Thebans? 

DAM. 
All. 

12 


178    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PELOP. 

Ay! — Laon,  Theopompus, 

Chlidon — true  Thebans  all ! — I  would  not  have 
A  stranger  hear  us, — there  are  spies  about  us. — 
News,  friends! — What,   are  ye  ready?     Grind  your 

swords, 

Buckle  your  armour,  mount  your  steeds:  the  time 
Has  come  for  action. — Which  of  you  will  ride 
With  me  to  Thebes? 

DAM. 

I! 


ALL 
I! 


DAM. 

But,  pray  you,  speak. 
Hath  Athens  granted  forces? 

PELOP. 

Not  a  man ; — 

Save  on  her  hard  original  conditions. 
We  for  ourselves  must  toil.     Think  not  of  Athens — 
The  gods  are  with  us. 

LAON 

With  the  gods  to  aid  us — 
And  a  battalion  of  Athenians — 
Thebes  were  our  own.     But  with  the  gods  alone, 
And  our  poor  selves, — four  hundred  naked  exiles, — 
What  can  we  make  against  a  garrison'd  city, 
Where  even  our  friends  are  turn'd  against  us  ? 


PELOPIDAS  179 

PELOP. 

What! 
Thou   think'st   of    Philidas?     I,    too,    thought    him 

traitor, 

Bought  to  the  service  of  the  Polemarchs; 
And  this  unnerved  me.     By  the  gods!  'tis  better 
To  find  the  man  we  have  call'd  friend,  and  known 
A  noble  one,  stoop  down  to  baseness. — But  Philidas 
Was  never  a  traitor !    Hark !  I  wept  my  friend, 
Thus  turn'd  a  villain;  when  this  letter  reach'd  me, 
By  his  own  true  hand  written, — Philidas 
Is  yet  the  friend  of  Thebes. 


Without  a  pledge. 


LA  ON 

Believe  him  not, 

PELOP. 


He  gives  it,  in  a  caution 

Worth  twenty  oaths  of  zeal :  Beware,  he  writes, 
Of  Iphias,  the  Athenian. 

LAON 

What!  the  pontiff, 
Who,  ever,  seems  our  truest  friend? 

PELOP. 

A  false  one ! 
Through  him  our  subtlest  plans  have  reach'd  the 

tyrants, 

Through  him  their  daggers  strike  us:  Oh,  believe  me, 
What  Philidas  writes  of  him  I  have  proved  true. 


i8o   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

But,  we've  no  time  for  words. — A  second  missive 
Reach'd  me,  to-day,  by  a  true  messenger, 
Who  bears,  already,  an  answer  back  to  Thebes. 
Hark,  in  a  word ; — this  Philidas,  who,  by  craft, 
Works  in  our  purpose,  (and,  for  that  end,  has  wound 
Into  the  tyrants'  favours,)  has  entrapp'd  them 
Into  our  hands:  They  feast  with  him  to-night: 
We  must  feast  with  them ! 

LAON 
We! 

PELOP. 

All  is  prepared, — 

The  messenger  sent  back;  and  we,  at  midnight, 
Enter  the  city:  at  the  Delian  Gate, 
A  friend  receives  us. 

LAON 

This  is  hasty! 

PELOP. 

Laon, 

He  that  strikes  tyrants  must  arm  with  thunderbolts ! — 
There  is  no  time  for  counsel.     He  that  loves  Thebes 
Better  than  life,  let  him  ride  forth  with  me 
To  slay  her  despots.     Twelve  of  us  alone 
Enter  the  city,  (we  must  begone  at  once :) 
The  rest,  set  out  at  nightfall,  and  take  post 
Upon  the  Hill  of  Fortune;  whence,  that  instant 
The  Polemarchs  have  fallen,  we  summon  them 
To  storm  the  citadel. 


PELOPIDAS  181 

DAM. 

I,  for  one,  love  Thebes 
Better  than  life— Have  at  the  Polemarchs! 

THE   REST 

And  I — and  I — and  I ! 

PELOP. 

Why  there  spoke  men ! 

True  sons  of  Thebes  and  freedom! — Thou,  Laon, 
With  the  four  hundred  follow. 

LAON 

By  Jove,  not  I ! 

The  thing  is  hasty,  as  I  said ;  but  I 
Yield  the  bright  place  of  fame  to  none.     Forgive  me; 
I'll  have  the  first  blow  at  the  knaves! 

PELOP. 

Brave  heart, 

I  knew  thou  wouldst  not  fail  me !     Be  it  so. 
Haste  to  your  steeds :  let  no  one  know,  in  Athens, 
That  you  have  left  it:  steal,  one  by  one,  away, 
And  meet  upon  the  road  a  league  from  Athens. 
Thence,  all  assembled,  we  set  out  together 
To  do  a  deed  of  virtue,  that  shall  keep, 
Throughout  all  time,  our  memories  green  and  glorious ! 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  II.  Thebes.  A  room  in  the  house  of 
PHILIDAS.  A  storm  of  wind  heard  without.  (Enter 
PHILIDAS  and  CHARON.) 


182     DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CHAR. 

Said  ye,  to-night! 

PHIL. 

Ay,  noble  friend,  to-night : 
To-night  the  princely  masters  of  Boeotia 
Feast  with  their  honoured  slave.     Do  not  the  fates 
Smile  on  us,  Charon? — Ay!  these  crafty  fools, 
That  play  so  deeply  on  my  gratitude, 
Calling  me  Secretary  and  their  friend, 
Come  blindly  to  the  toils.     They  feast  with  me! 
Is't  not  enough?     The  exiles  are  at  hand, 
Pelopidas  their  head — 'Tis  but  a  blow; 
And  revelry  and  bondage  end  to  together! 

CHAR. 

Yet  we  have  no  advices. 

PHIL. 

Have  we  not ! 

What,  when  the  gods  reveal  their  favour  to  us! 
The  exiles  come — You  cannot  think  that  Heaven 
Vouchsafes  us  these  brave  presages  for  laughter  ? 
A  multitude — ay,  the  whole  city — saw  it ; — 
Three  ravens  croaking  o'er  the  citadel, 
And  filling  all  the  air  with  their  harsh  clamour : 
Did  not  the  rabble  call  them  Polemarchs? 
And  when  the  eagle  pounced  upon,  and  tore  them, 
The  veriest  varlets  cried,  Pelopidas! 

CHAR. 

Would  he  were  come,  and  come  the  great  avenger 
Of  his  oppressed  and  outraged  countrymen : 
There's  no  Boeotian  but  will  follow  him. 


PELOPIDAS  183 

PHIL. 

He  will !    And,  in  reliance  on  his  wisdom, 
I  have  sent  him  word  of  this  our  festival. 
Already,  on  the  road,  my  nephew  Melon 
Lies  waiting  him,  to  bring  him  to  the  city. 

(Enter  MELON.) 
What !  you  have  brought  them ! 

CHAR. 

Have  you  found  them? 

MEL. 

No: 

I  found  an  open  and  a  desolate  road, 
A  gate  unguarded ; — a  brave  opportunity ! 
A  thousand  men  might  pass  it  unmolested. 
The  river  thunders  o'er  his  rocky  bed; 
Old  CEolus,  with  his  gusty  myrmidons, 
Howls  uproar  through  the  air ;  and  all  the  stars 
Shroud  them  in  dismal  sleety  clouds. — A  rare 
Fine  night  for  mischief !  but  the  makers  come  not ! 

CHAR. 

Hark  to  the  knave.     For  mischief !     He  looks  on 
A  deed  which,  at  the  least,  slays  many  men, 
And  may  slay  thousands,  as  a  mischief -making ! 

MEL. 

Is  it  not,  Charon?     I'll  not  dignify  it 

With  any  of  your  sounding  names.     Are  tyrants 

Moulded  of  better  clay  than  other  men  ? 


1 84   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Their  souls  of  passions  less  corrupt  and  base 
Than  the  vile  fires  that  fill  a  common  breast  ? 
What  is  there,  then,  to  mark  a  tyrant's  fall, 
Nobler  than  marks  the  death  of  other  men  ? 
Give  them  their  names, — great  rogues, — the  deed  that 

slays  them 

Is  but  rogue-killing.     But  thousands  fall  with  them ! 
Well,  what  of  that?  a  thousand  baser  rogues, — 
Slaves  that  support  them,  or  endure  their  rule! 
Kill  me  ten  thousand  such,  'tis  still  rogue-killing. 
You  twain  the  deed  may  call  an  act  of  virtue : 
To  me  'tis  mischief-making. — 

PHIL. 

Omens  lie  not : 

The  messenger  was  faithful ! — Foolish  nephew, 
Get  thee  to  horse  again,  and  to  the  highway: 
There  posted,  a  true  sentry,  wait  the  coming 
Of  those  thou  wot'st  of. 

MEL. 

Why,  they  ne'er  will  come ! 
In  such  a  night  as  this,  a  winter  storm 
Howling  and  freezing,  no  man  can  tread  the  paths 
O'er  our  rough  mountains. 

PHIL. 

No  man  that  fears,  like  thee, 
To  face  the  blast.     Sirrah,  I  do  distrust  thee! 
This  cold  sleet  drove  thee  from  thy  post,  where  now 
Our  brave  friends  wait  thee.     What,  effeminate  boy, 
Canst  thou,  who  fly'st  before  a  winter  wind, 
E'er  hope  to  face  a  Spartan? 


PELOPIDAS  185 

MEL. 

I  am  ready 

To  face  a  dozen;  ready,  too,  and  able, 
Of  mine  own  self,  to  do  this  perilous  act, 
You  think  so  grand  and  virtuous ! 

CHAR. 

What,  to  kill 
The  Polemarchs? 

MEL. 

They  banquet  with  my  uncle. 
Make  me  their  cupbearer — An  ounce  of  hemlock 
Were  better  than  a  thousand  patriots ! 
What  hinders,  then,  to  knock  their  guards  o'  th'  head, 
Rouse  up  the  growling  citizens,  besiege, 
And  starve,  the  garrison  in  the  Cadmea? 

PHIL. 

Thou  speak'st  a  boy,  although  a  brave  one. — Hence 
To  th'  gates,  and  to  Pelopidas;  with  whom, 
(A  follower,  where  to  follow  is  distinction,) 
Thy  life  of  manhood  thou  shalt  well  begin, 
With  hope  to  end  in  glory.     To  the  gates, 
There  to  await  the  exiles. 

CHAR. 

And,  hark  ye,  Melon: 
When   found,    conduct    them    to   my   house, — their 

harbour 
And  fortress,  till  the  hour  of  blood  be  come. 


186   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

MEL. 

Safely  and  secretly ! 

(Exit.) 

PHIL. 

I  pray,  have  ready 

A  store  of  weapons;  for,  'tis  like,  they  dare  not 
Enter  in  arms. 

(A  clatter  of  arms  is  heard  without.) 

CHAR. 

Hark! 

PHIL. 

TisthePolemarch! 

My  patron  Archias!     This  bodes  us  news 
From  Athens! 

(Enter  ARCHIAS,  attended.) 

Hail,  my  prince  and  princely  patron! 
The  gods  befriend  me  in  your  countenance. 

ARCH. 

Our  faithful  Philidas. — And  Charon,  too, 

Of  the  best  blood  of  Thebes,— methinks,  as  faithful? 

CHAR. 

Ever  your  highness'  slave. 

ARCH. 

We  hope,  some  day, 
Charon  will  use  a  nobler  name, — our  friend. 


PELOPIDAS  187 


CHAR. 

Your  highness  would  be  with  the  Secretary. 

I  humbly  take  my  leave. 

(Exit.) 

ARCH. 

A  hypocrite ! — 

But  then  all  men  are  so:  an  enemy, 
It  may  be; — but  to  be  the  foe  of  power, 
Needs  a  great  heart  of  courage!     I  do  think  him 
A  friend  (but,  mark,  in  secret,)  of  the  exiles; 
Perhaps  that  one  (yet  he  hath  scarce  the  spirit,) 
Of  whom  the  pontiff  speaks, — an  unknown  traitor, 
That  hath  sent  letters  to  Pelopidas. 

PHIL. 

Is  there  such  man  in  Thebes  ? 

ARCH. 

So  Iphias  writes  me; 

But  who  he  knows  not :  and  Iphias  hath  his  eye 
Upon  the  exiles. — What,  by  Jove!  I  tell  thee, 
Ere  we  yield  up  to  pleasure,  we  must  counsel 
Of  the  state's  danger ! 

PHIL. 

If  it  please  my  prince. 

ARCH. 

Know  then,  'tis  certain,  (Iphias  so  reports  it) 
Those  banished  traitors,  whom  (their  chiefs  cut  off, 
None  left  them  but  the  hot  Pelopidas,) 
We  deemed  so  lightly  of,  a  broken  faction, 


1 88   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Impotent  and  despairing,  have  roused  up 
Into  new  life  and  energy,  (as  serpents, 
That  sleep  through  winter  in  the  spring  arise 
Stronger  in  venom,)  and  straightway  set  their  brains 
To  plot  new  treasons.     Some  friend  in  Thebes  (the 

knave 

Shall  feed  the  jackals!)  sends  them  hope  and  counsel: 
It  was  but  yesterday,  his  courier  (seen 
By  Iphias'  spies,)  bore  letters  to  Pelopidas, 
And,  with  his  charges,  fled  from  Athens. 

PHIL. 

This 

Calls  for  new  vigilance.     But  did  the  pontiff 
Ravel  the  secret  of  the  plot? 

ARCH. 

The  traitors 

Bear  it  too  subtly.     Yet  something  he  hath  learn'd; 
And  he  suspects, — nay,  is  assured,  (so  hotly 
Despair  and  their  mad  leader  urge  them  on,) 
They  scheme  (what  think'st  thou?)  a  return  to  Thebes; 
Here,  in  the  tyrants'  den,  to  beard  the  tyrants 
And  strike  the  blow  for — faugh ! — for  liberty. 

PHIL. 

This  is  most  frantic! 

ARCH. 

And  most  fortunate : 

It  brings  them  in  our  power.     While  Iphias  sends  us 
Word  of  their  movements,  we  set  our  cunning  traps, 
And  their  first  step  in  Thebes  is — on  the  scaffold! 


PELOPIDAS  189 

PHIL. 

Mad  traitors  they !    And  this  bold  visit  when 
Make  they,  or  meditate? 

ARCH. 

Full  soon,  says  Iphias; 

Yet  knows  not :  on  the  morrow,  we  shall  hear ; 
Or  soon  as  Iphias  penetrates  their  secret. 

PHIL. 

Why  then,  most  sure,  the  villains  seek  their  death. 
Methinks,  I  see  a  way  to  lure  them  on 
Into  the  ready  nets. 

ARCH. 

There  spoke  my  Philidas ! 
To  whom  (for  well  I  know,  he  hath  a  soul 
Full  of  all  policy,)  in  such  a  strait, 
I  come  for  counsel,  rather  than  to  my  colleagues. 
Alas,  thou  know'st,  to  be  a  prince,  is  not 
To  be  a  capable  governor :  (to  thee, 
Who  art  my  friend,  I  can  speak  plainly.)     Fate 
Hath  cursed  me  with  associates  all  unfit 
For   their   high    function.     Dost    thou    think,    that 

Philip,— 

That  thing  of  croaking  fear  and  superstition, — 
Could  aid,  in  such  conjuncture?     Or  Leontidas? — 
Alas !  when  Sparta,  from  her  Theban  friends, 
Chose  a  third  Polemarch,  she  sought  not  out 
The  best  and  wisest;  or  her  choice  had  ne'er 
Fall'n  on  Leontidas, — a  man  of  pleasure, 
Who,  on  Sibylla's  wanton  lap,  would  rather 
Dream  a  charmed  life  away,  than  rise  in  arms 
Against  her  traitor  husband. 


190   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

From  such  weak  coadjutors,  I  must  turn 
To  my  best  friend  and  counsellor,  Philidas; 
On  whose  wise  policy  I  rely,  to  bring 
These  dark  affairs  to  issue. 

PHIL. 

Would  I  might  prove 
Worthy  your  highness'  praise. 

ARCH. 

Catch  me  these  knaves ; 
Or  but  their  chief,  Pelopidas ;  (the  rest 
Are  but  his  tools  and  weapons — naught  without 
The  hand  that  wields  them :)  and  look  (if  Archias 
Hath  credit  yet  with  Sparta,)  soon  to  sit 
In  the  chair  of  Leontidas. 

PHIL. 

My  wishes 

Aim  at  no  higher  office  than  to  serve 
My  most  magnificent  patron.     But  these  traitors! 
What  if  we  send  some  seeming  friend  to  them, 
To  urge  them  in  their  purpose  ? 

ARCH. 

If  Iphias  err  not, 

They  need  no  spur.     The  danger  lies  in  this, — 
That,  by  a  sudden  frenzy  goaded  on, 
They  may  leap  on  us  ere  we  have  warning. 

PHIL. 

Give  me 

Power  o'er  the  guard :  I'll  have  the  gates  so  watched, 
No  man  shall  pass  without  my  eye  upon  him. 


PELOPIDAS  191 

ARCH. 

It  shall  be  so!     I'll  serve  thee  and  myself, 

In  the  same  act.     The  gallant  youth,  thy  nephew, 

Shall  be  made  Captain  of  the  Guard. 

PHIL.     (Aside.) 

The  gods 

Make  them  their  own  destroyers! — A  wild  youth, 
But  brave  and  trusty;  and  for  his  faith  I'll  answer 
As  for — my  own. 


Our  officer. 


ARCH. 

To-morrow,  then,  shall  see  him 
PHIL. 


To-night,  my  prince,  to-night! 

Who  knows  what  deeds  this  night  may  see  attempted  ? 
What  if  the  traitors  should  set  forth  to-night  ? 

ARCH. 

Thou  hast  no  fears  of  that  ? 

PHIL. 

No  fears,  my  prince: 
But  the  wise  fight  'gainst  possibilities. 

ARCH. 

I  like  thy  zeal :  it  shall  be  as  you  wish. 

Have  the  youth  in  attendance  at  the  banquet, 

To  take  his  sword  of  office. 


192    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PHIL. 

My  prince's  slave! 

ARCH. 

And  hark  ye,  Philidas, — I  mean  to  prove 

My   friendship   further.     That   unknown   knave   in 

Thebes 

In  correspondence  with  the  traitors, — couldst  thou 
Believe  that  man  was  Charon  ? 


I  think  him  faithful. 


PHIL. 

Charon,  my  prince ! 

ARCH. 


By  my  life,  not  I. 

He  hath  the  means- to  stir  the  people, — look  you, 
This  discontented  rabble ;  which,  averse 
To  our  authority,  a  rich  man's  gold 
May  easily  bribe  to  riot. 

PHIL. 

Alas,  your  highness, 
I  ever  held  him  ranked  among  your  friends. 

ARCH. 

We'll  have  no  friends  with  means  to  be  our  foes. 
His  wealth  is  dangerous,  and  should  be  owned 
By  trustier  friends.     Dost  thou  conceive  me,  Philidas  ? 
Fasten  on  him  (for  thy  shrewd  wit  may  do  it,) 
A  charge  of  correspondence  with  the  exiles, — 
And  thou  art  heir  to  half  his  wealth. 


PELOPIDAS  193 

PHIL. 

I  see  him 
Already  On  the  block ! 

ARCH. 

Why,  then,  for  pleasure! 

The  state  is  served;  Archias  may  now  unbend, 
And  play  the  reveller,  like  any  Theban. 
Fools,  like  Leontidas,  may  give  their  souls, 
And  every  thought,  to  pleasure,  till  the  sense 
Surfeits  and  sickens  o'er  the  constant  feast: 
Better  a  Spartan  knows,  who,  with  denial 
And  toil,  his  eager  passions  keep?  alive, 
Ever  with  fullest  appetite  for  bliss. 
This  night  to  pleasure,  then,  my  Philidas ! 
Spread  ye  the  board  with  dainties  rich  and  rare ; 
Your  halls  with  dancers  and  musicians  fill ; 
And  Thebes'  best  beauties  summon  to  the  feast, 
To  crown  with  love  and  joy  their  Polemarchs. 

PHIL. 

Dainties  of  every  clime  shall  spread  the  board : 
Fine  dancers  and  musicians  fill  the  halls ; 
And  the  most  beauteous  dames  of  Thebes  appear, 
To  crown  with  love  and  joy  their  Polemarchs! 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  III.  Under  the  walls  of  Thebes.  A  storm 
blowing.  (Enter  DAMOCLIDES,  LA  ON,  and  other  exiles 
(eleven  in  all,)  as  Hunters,  in  skin  cloaks.) 

DAM. 

Be  of  good  heart.     I  warrant  me,  our  leader 
Will  find  us  hope,  even  in  this  misadventure. 

13 


194    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

1ST  EXILE. 

Tis  strange. 

LAON 

What!  that  we  are  under  our  own  walls, 
And  something  doubtful,  like  to  whipt  out  curs, 
Whether  to  enter! 

DAM. 

Friends !  ye  are  discontented ! 

This  speaks  not  well  for  Thebans.     Will  ye  shrink 
From  the  bold  deed  that  frees  a  bleeding  country, 
Which  ye  have  sworn  so  often  to  achieve  ? 

LAON 

Shrink !     If  you  put  me  once  but  on  the  track 
Of  a  Spartan,  peasant  be  he  or  Polemarch, 
And  find  me  shrink  from  following,  proclaim  me 
A  braggart.     But  to  be  kept  here,  exposed 
To  biting  tempests,  and  to  feel  the  strength 
Which  should  be  spent  upon  our  enemies, 
Wasting  before  a  north- wind,  while  the  tyrants 
Are  feasting  warmly  in  our  palaces ; 
This  moves  me.     And  no  villain  messenger 
To  bid  us  to  the  city!     Is  this  juggling? 
Or  are  our  colleagues  in  the  city  cowards  ? 
Who'll  answer  for  their  spirit  or  their  faith? 

(Enter  PELOPIDAS.) 

PELOP. 

I,  Laon! — This  unbecoming  peevishness, 
Which  rashly  charges  a  long  trusted  friend 


PELOPIDAS  195 

With  an  unworthy  motive,  is  unworthy. 

Fy !  you  know  not  how  many  eyes  are  set 

On  the  obscurest  citizen  of  Thebes : 

Think 'st  thou  the  titled  Philidas  is  unwatched  ? 

And  who  will  warrant,  mine  own  messenger 

Has  yet  found  opening  to  approach  him  ? 

LAON 

True: 

Therefore  I  yield  me  petulant  and  rash . 
But  the  main  cause  of  trouble  still  remains : 
What's  to  be  done?     Without  advices,  shall  we 
Break  a  gate  open  with  our  fists,  and  fight, 
We  twelve,  against  their  thousands?     Or  remain 
Here  on  the  road,  warming  ourselves  with  fury, 
Till  morning  mars  us?     Or  retire  to  Athens, 
To  meet  the  laughter  of  her  citizens, 
And  the  hireling  knife  and  poison  of  assassins? 

PELOP. 

To  enter  unadvisedly  were  death ; 
To  pause,  the  same ;  but  to  retreat  were  worse — 
That  were  dishonour.     At  the  Delian  Gate 
I  looked  to  find  a  friend :  this  charged  I  Philidas. 
No  man  is  there, — none  save  the  drowsy  warders, 
Whom  'twere  not  hard  to  pass,  were't  wise  to  pass. 
Whate'er  the  luckless  cause  of  this  mishap, 
'Tis  most  unfortunate, — yet  must  not  stay  us. 
The  steel  that  rids  our  country  of  her  tyrants 
Must  strike  to-night,  or  never.     Be  assured, 
The  spies  and  murderers  that,  like  vultures,  hung 
Upon  our  exiled  paths,  and  made,  in  Athens, 
The  firesides  of  our  friends  as  perilous  to  us 


196   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

As  Theban  prisons,  have,  ere  now,  discovered 

Our  flight  from  Athens,  and  advice  despatched 

To  the  three  tyrants. — What!  we  must  forestall  them. 

LAON 

But  how? 

PELOP. 

One  of  us,  venturing  for  the  rest, 
Must  pass  the  gate,  and  seek  our  friends. 

LAON 

And  who 

Will  undertake  this  madman's  enterprise  ? 
I  say  naught  of  its  peril ;  since  not  that 
Would  hinder  me.     But,  as  ten  thousand  chances 
Make  against  one,  that  he  who  volunteers  it, 
Falls  in  the  tyrants'  hands,  and  thus,  not  only 
Brings  death  upon  himself  and  all  that  follow, 
But  ruins  our  poor  country's  latest  hope, — 
I  think,  none  here  will  choose  to  be  that  one. 

PELOP. 

Thou  art  deceived ;  myself  will  be  that  one ! 
It  is  an  office  of  honour  which  I  covet 
Next  unto  that  of  striking  the  first  blow : 
And  whatsoe'er  betide  myself,  I  swear 
By  Pluto,  never  a  man  here  standing  by  me 
Shall  rue  the  enterprise.     Lie  here  in  wait. 
If  there  be  yet  in  Thebes  a  friend  of  Thebes, 
Ye  shall  full  soon  be  sent  for.     For  myself, 
Expect  me  not.     When  I  set  out  from  Athens, 
I  made  my  vow  to  Jove, — and  here  repeat  it, — 
Once  enter 'd  that  wronged  city,  ne'er  again 
To  leave  it,  living,  whilst  a  tyrant  lives. 


PELOPIDAS  197 


DAM. 

May  the  gods  speed  ye,  who  have  raised  ye  up 
To  be  our  leader !    We  will  trust  our  lives 
And  honours  in  your  keeping. 

LA  ON 

Ay,  Heaven  speed  ye ! 
A  man  may  grumble,  and  be  honest  too. 
But  pardon  a  weak  jealousy,  which  I 
Must  utter : — In  yon  city,  noble  friend, 
You  may  find  many  valiant  spirits,  ready 
To  join  and  strike  with  you. 

PELOP. 

I  hope  so,  Laon. 

LAON 

If  you  do  take  them  with  you  to  the  act, 
Forgetting  us  to  whom  the  deed  belongs, 
Robbing  us  of  the  honour — 

PELOP. 

Never  doubt  me: 

You  shall  be  sent  for  presently,  and  find 
Friends  to  support,  not  to  precede  ye. 

LAON 

I  am  content. 

PELOP. 

Let  one  be  ready  with  the  fleetest  horse, 

That  moment  my  messenger  reaches  ye,  to  spur 


198    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

To  thf  Hill  of  Fortune  for  our  friends;  and  thence 
To  Athens,  to  bring  on  the  band  of  youths, 
Allowed  to  march,  when  we  have  won  the  city — 
And  we  shall  win  it.     We  must  have  assistance, 
At  dawn,  to  invest  and  storm  the  citadel. 
To-morrow's  eve  must  find  no  warring  Spartan 
Breathing  in  Thebes. 

DAM. 
This  shall  be  done. 

PELOP. 

And  when 

Ye  follow  him  that  I  shall  send  for  you, 
Be  it  in  silence  and  simplicity, 
As  huntsmen  still.     Let  no  one  straggle  from  you, 
To  visit  his  home;  but  follow  sternly  on 
To  where  brave  deeds  and  everlasting  honour 
Await  you. 

DAM. 
This  is  well. 

PELOP. 

And  hark  ye,  friends. — 
Since  the  gross  cunning  of  a  silly  peasant 
May  trap  a  tiger,  a  mere  man,  like  me, 
May  chance  upon  some  pitfall,  which  the  craft 
Of  yonder  tyrants  hollows  in  our  path. 

LAON 

Well !     Doth  Pelopidas  talk  of  peril  ? 


PELOPIDAS  199 

PELOP. 

Ay: 

Why  should  I  not  ?     I  have  a  wife,  brave  Laon : 
A  boy,  too,  who,  if  the  great  gods  but  spare  him, 
Will  one  day  spit  at  Spartans.— 

DAM. 

Noble  friend, 

Rest  you  content.     There's  never  a  Theban  here 
Will  e'er  desert  them. 

PELOP. 

And  my  gray  old  father  ? 

DAM. 

He  shall  be  ours. 

PELOP. 

Why  then  this  feat  is  nothing! 
I  shall  now  think  of  naught  but  Thebes. — Farewell: 
Be  of  good  heart,  and  ready. — Farewell,  farewell. 
This  night  ye  banquet  with  the  Polemarchs! 

(Exeunt.) 

END    OF    ACT    I. 


ACT  II 

SCENE  I.  A  room  in  the  house  of  PELOPIDAS. 
(Enter  SIBYLLA,  leading  the  boy  HYLAS,  and  followed  by 
a  Female  Slave.) 

SIBYLLA 

Go, — get  thee  hence,  and  let  me  hear  no  more. 
Go,  go! — The  gods  desert  me! — Hence,  I  say. 
I  will  not  see  him. 

(Exit  Slave.) 

HYL. 

Mother! 

SIB. 

My  loved  boy! 

HYL. 

Mother,  you  weep ! 

SIB. 

Why,  dost  thou  think,  poor  mouse, 
There  are  no  sorrows  but  for  childhood?  none 
Beyond  the  schoolbook  and  the  pedagogue? 

HYL. 

No  mother:  for  my  teacher  says,  that  sorrow 
Haunts  man's  possessions  all,  except  his  grave. 

200 


PELOPIDAS  201 

But  when  I  weep,  it  is  not  long;  for  some  one, 
That  loves  me,  comes  and  comforts  me. 

SIB. 

And  who 

Have  /  to  love  me  and  to  comfort  me  ? 
Poor  prattling  boy,  thou  art  the  only  one 
Of  the  bright  many  that  once  thronged  around  me. 

HYL. 

Oh,  but  my  father  will  come  back ! 


Forbid! 


SIB. 

The  gods 

HYL. 

Do  you  not  love  him,  mother? 

SIB. 

Thou  shouldst  be  whipped,  thou  magpie,  for  that 
question. 

HYL. 
I  love  him,  mother,  and  I  wish  him  back! 

SIB. 

And  I,  who  love  him  with  a  flame  that  scorches 
The  thought  of  self  out  of  my  heart,  and  limits 
Life  to  the  measure  of  his  dear  affection, 
Wish  him  a  thousand  miles  away  from  Thebes, — 
Ay,  a  whole  million,  so  I  were  but  with  him ! 
Sirrah,  dost  thou  not  know,  these  knavish  princes, 
These  Spartan  governors,  would  kill  him  ?     They 


202    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Who  have  set  a  price  upon  his  head,  as  on 
The  meanest  felon's,  and  decreed  it  death 
To  any  hind  that  in  his  cot  receives  him ! 
No !  the  heavens  witness,  the  mere  thought  that  he, 
Moved  by  a  rash  and  restless  enterprise, 
Should  approach  Thebes,  his  most  unhappy  city, 
Affrights  me.     Better,  better  thus  to  know  him, 
A  houseless,  friendless,  childless,  wifeless  exile, 
Than  see  him  dead! 

HYL. 

But,  mother,  if  you  love  him, 
You  will  go  to  Athens;  and,  if  you  love  me, 
You  will  take  me  with  you : — I  should  be  so  happy ! 

SIB. 

Happy  indeed,  thou  prattler!      But  these  Spartans,- 
These  bandogs  that  have  driven  out  the  shepherds, 
And  turned  upon  the  flock, — will  have  none  happy 
Under  their  rule :  no,  they  will  not  permit 
Even  a  poor  child  and  mother  to  be  happy. 

HYL. 
Are  they  all  cruel,  mother? 

SIB. 

All,  my  babe. 

HYL. 

I  thought  my  lord  Leontidas  was  not. 
I  think  he  loves  me,  mother !     For,  this  morning, 
He  said  that  I  should  be  a  soldier,  with 
A  horse  and  spear — Think  of  that,  mother! — And 
He  gave  me  this  brave  dagger. — 


PELOPIDAS  203 

SIB. 

Cast  it  away! 

Put  thy  foot  on  it— Thy  hand  is  yet  too  weak 
To  use  it  on  the  giver! 

HYL. 

Mother? 

SIB. 

Never 
Again  take  gift  from  him. 

HYL. 

I  will  not,  mother. — 
But  he  spoke  kindly. 

(Enter  LEONTIDAS,  behind.) 

SIB. 

Oh,  I  doubt  not— Kindly! 
His  kindness  is  a  dulcet  death;  and,  like 
The  aerial  poison  of  a  Siren's  song, 
Consumes  the  life,  while  it  delights  the  sense. 
He  is  thy  father's  bitterest  enemy: 
And  thou  must  hate  him, — ay,  and  pray  the  gods 
Knit  thy  young  limbs  into  precocious  strength, 
That  thou  may'st  kill  him. 

HYL. 

Kill  him,  mother? 
See,  he  smiles  on  us ! 

SIB. 

He!     Where?— Ah!— Ye  gods, 
Pity  me  and  protect  me ! — This  is  well, 
And  courteous,  Polemarch !     Does  the  tyranny 


204   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Of  your  brave  rule  invade  even  the  retirement 
Of  a  poor  matron's  household? 

LEON. 

When  it  hatches 

Treason. — Dame,  thou  hast  eloquence  enough 
To  turn  the  brains  of  half  our  citizens : 
And  what  I  have  heard, — this  musical  adjuration, 
Which  schools  a  child  to  be  my  enemy, — 
Makes  myself  almost  turn  against  myself, 
Leontidas  detest  Leontidas. — 
My  pretty  young  soldier,  thou  dost  hate  me  now? 

HYL. 

Yes,  I  do  hate  thee. 

LEON. 

That's  my  little  Greek. 

And,  for  thy  ready  obedience  to  thy  mother, 
Run  to  the  court,  and  tell  my  Thracian  groom 
He  must  let  thee  ride  upon  a  tall,  brave  horse. 

HYL. 

Mother! 

SIB. 

Stir  not.     What,  wilt  thou  let  the  honey 
Of  a  stranger's  charming  tongue  befool  thee  ever? 

LEON. 

You  are  cruel,  lady, — and  not  only  to  me 
Whose  love  should  claim  a  lovelier  recompense; 
To  your  fair  self,  whom  'tis  unnatural 


PELOPIDAS  205 

For  your  fair  self  to  wrong;  but  to  this  boy, 

Whom  you  breed  up  to  sorrow.     You  do  condemn  him 

To  an  anticipated,  bloody  death, 

In  the  wild  counsels  you  so  rashly  give  him : 

And  teaching  him  thus  to  reject  my  favour, 

You  rob  him  of  a  friend,  who  has  the  power 

To  advance  his  fortunes. 

SIB. 

He  shall  have  no  advancement 
That  thou  canst  give  him,  Polemarch.     The  son 
Of  the  most  noble  of  Boeotian  patriots 
Shall  take  no  favours  of  Boeotian  tyrants. 

LEON. 

Now  is  this  woman's  prattle!     Patriots,  tyrants! — 
As  if  the  restless  beggar  that  would  mount, 
Yet  cannot,  were  a  nobler  spirit  than  he 
That  has  clomb  to  power  already ! 

SIB. 

Mak'st  thou  the  patriot 
So  poor  a  thing  ?     Is  there  no  charm  in  virtue  ? 
No  merit  in  the  love  of  country? 

LEON. 

Ay: 

But  what  have  virtue  and  the  love  of  country 
To  do  with  patriots?     Such  things  may  have  been, 
F  th'  golden  ages :  but,  now,  they  are  the  fictions, 
Wherewith  th'  ambitious  fight  their  way  to  rule, 
And  gull  the  freeborn  slaves,  their  helpers-on. 
Virtue!     Why  virtue  sits  at  home,  apart 


206   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

From  the  great  world,  and  its  great  villanies; 

And  so  doth  freedom,  which  is  only  free 

Where  one  sole  man  inhabits.     The  love  of  country 

Is  but  another  name  for  love  of  that 

Wherewith  our  country  can  enrich  us, — wealth, 

Dignity,  power, — the  great  divinities 

Which  all  men  worship,  and  their  only  virtues. 

He  that  seeks  these  things  is  the  patriot ; 

And  he  that  has  them,  and  from  the  seeker  keeps  them, 

Tyrant — or  so  your  patriot  calls  him. 

SIB. 

Alas! 

If  there  be,  then,  no  patriot,  what  is  he 
That  bleeds, — nay,  dies  too, — for  his  country  ? 

LEON. 

A  soldier, 

That  seeks  the  shortest  road  to  power,  and  wins  it 
By  th'  stupid  shedding  of  some  drops  of  blood; 
When  great  minds,  greatly  toiling,  lose  the  prize : 
But  yet  not  always  wins  it.     Dost  thou  believe, 
Pelopidas,  this  manikin's  sire, — my  rival 
Of  old,  as  now, — went  forth  to  Mantinea 
To  die  for  naught, — or  for  his  country? 

SIB. 

For 
His  country, — for  naught  else ! 

LEON. 

By  Mercury, 

He  won  the  prize  though!     Scarce  were  his  wounds 
well  healed, 


PELOPIDAS  207 

When,  rising  from  his  sick-couch,  he  besought 
The  people, — the  dear  people, — in  whose  cause 
He  had  bled,  for  the  great  post  of  Bceotarch, 
(That  office  for  which  /  so  long  had  toiled,) 
And  the  dear  people  gave  it. 

SIB. 

And  they  never 
Chose  a  more  noble  governor ! 

LEON. 

Or  lost 

A  more  deserving  one.     From  that  moment,  dame, 
I,  a  good  patriot  then,  because  in  want 
Of  all  my  foe  had  gained,  swore,  the  dear  people 
Should  ne'er  choose  other  governor; — and  they  shall 

not. 

Ne'er  shall  my  rival  look  again  to  mount, 
The  chair  of  rule, — that  chair  which  may  be  soon 
Higher  and  nobler, — a  royal  one,  a  throne 
Holding  a  king;  the  while  my  patriot  rival 
Wanders,  a  baffled  exile,  through  the  world. 

SIB. 

Let  it  be  so ;  be  thou  a  king,  Pelopidas 
A  baffled  exile :  use  but  thy  clemency, — 
Discharge  me  from  thy  court,  that  I  may  follow 
My  baffled  exile  in  his  wanderings. 

LEON. 

Thou  shalt  remain  to  share  my  fate, — to  rail, 
To  scold,  to  tyrannize,  yet  be  my  queen. 


208   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SIB. 

Never!    Wert  thou  upon  Olympus'  top, 

Throned  in  the  state  of  Jove,  and  my  poor  husband 

Chained,  like  a  Helot,  in  his  den  below, 

I  should  not  choose,  I  could  not  choose,  a  moment 

Betwixt  the  two, — the  noblest  and  the  basest. 

LEON. 

Hah !  you  are  mad ! 

SIB. 

Discharge  me ; 

Give  me  to  go :  and,  if  'twill  move  thee,  know, 
I  hate  thee,  tyrant, — hate  thee  and  despise  thee! 

LEON. 

This  is  a  frenzy  in  you.     Though  your  boldness 
May  trifle  with  my  passion,  yet  beware 
My  anger. 

SIB. 

Oh,  my  fate! 

LEON. 

A  scorned  affection 

Withers  at  last  to  spiteful  hate;  a  love, 
Leavened  by  constant  insult,  turns  to  gall. 
Love  I  have  offered  thee,  such  as  would  make  thee 
The  partner  of  a  throne,  mistress  of  power, 
And  pomp,  and  pleasure,  beyond  all  other  women. 
Beware  the  change  thine  own  wild  words  provoke, 
The  fury  that  may  crush  thee,— ay,  and  all 
Thou  lovest. 


PELOPIDAS  209 

HYL. 

Mother! 

SIB. 

Manikin,  how  now? 

No  tears!— Why  this  is  well!— rare  gallantry! 
New  courtship !     A  weak,  silly  woman's  whims, — 
And  perhaps  coyness, — must  be  frighted  from  her! 
Thou  scorn'st  the  soft  and  delicate  persuasion, 
The  tender  and  submissive  oratory, 
Which  common  lovers  put  upon  their  tongues ; 
Wouldst  win  by  talking  of  thy  hate  and  fury  !— 
My  boy! — A  rare,  fine  wooing!  a  new  courtship! 

LEON. 

Lady,  you  jest? 

SIB. 

Oh,  no — My  boy,  my  boy! — 
What,  fright  me  into  kindness ! 

LEON. 

I  pr'ythee,  pardon 

If  my  rough  tyranny  have  drawn  those  tears, 
I  pray  you,  pardon  me.     Your  beauty  drives  me 
Into  a  mood  of  folly,  which  your  sarcasms 
Sting  into  frenzy — Why  do  you  stir  me  thus  ? 
Would  you  but  smile  a  little,  howe'er  you  railed, 
No  slave  should  be  more  gentle  and  submissive. 

SIB. 

My  boy,  too!  threat  my  boy?  my  innocent  boy, 
That  has  not  malice,  yet,  to  harm  a  reptile. 
14 


210   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

LEON. 

These    were   vain   words:    and,   well   thou   know'st, 

Sibylla, 

Thy  favour  is  a  refuge  and  protection 
Safe  as  an  altar. 

SIB.     (ToHylas.) 
Sirrah,  will  you  go  study? 

LEON. 
Stay,  lady. 

SIB. 

Oh,  my  lord,  I  thought  you  were  bent 
To  win  my  kindness  ? 

LEON. 

With  my  best  of  service ! 

SIB. 

To-night  I  would  be  with  my  child  alone. — 
Oh,  my  good  lord,  you  know  not  woman's  nature: 
Our  humours  are  the  ladders  to  our  heart ; 
And  he  who  would  climb  into  its  richest  seats, 
Must  step  them  gently,  one  by  one. 

LEON. 

I'll  please  you; 
And  dream  I  am  one  step  nearer  to  your  love. 

(Exit.) 

SIB. 

Slave! — that  my  fate  should  bind  me  to  dissemble 
A  moment  with  a  wretch  so  scorned  as  thou ! 

(Exit  with  HYLAS.) 


PELOPIDAS  211 

SCENE  II.    A  room  in  PHILIDAS'S  house.     (Enter 
PHILIDAS  and  a  Slave.) 

PHIL. 

All  finished?  all  complete?  the  tables  spread 
With  viands  costly  and  luxurious  ? 
The  couches  cushioned  with  rich  robes  ?  the  torches 
Lighted?  ('Tis  brave!)  the  dancers  and  musicians 
Already  come?  and  (hark  ye,  did  ye  mark?) 
Close  barred  the  casements, — to  shut  out  the  cries 
Of  the  disorderly  base  rabble?     (Alack! 
And  to  shut  in  some  others !) 

(Enter  a  second  Slave.) 

PHIL. 

What !  how  now  ? 
Come  they,  my  princely  masters  and  my  guests? 

2D  SLAVE 

A  peasant — and  a  huntsman,  as  he  says, 

With  a  present  of  game,  a  fat  hind  and  wild  boar — 

Craves  to  speak  with  you. 

PHIL. 

Out  upon  the  boor ! 

Take  him  among  you,  and  let  him  feed  and  sleep. 
I'll  see  him  on  the  morrow.       (Exit  2D  SLAVE.)    Where 

bides  my  nephew, 
My  petulant,  wilful  kinsman? 

1ST  SLAVE 

Good  my  master, 
He  hath  ta'en  horse,  and  ridden  I  know  not  whither. 


212    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PHIL. 

What !  i'  the  storm  ?  The  madcap ! — Pray  the  gods, 
He  quickly  meet  them !— Why ,  this  feast  would  feed 
Five  hundred  starving  Thebans ! — 

(Re-enter  2D  SLAVE.) 

PHIL. 

What,  again  ? 

2D  SLAVE 

The  huntsman,  may  it  please  you, — 

PHIL. 

Out,  the  knave ! 
What  want  I  with  huntsmen? — 


Twelve  hounds — 


2D  SLAVE 

Says  he  has  brought  with  him 


PHIL. 

Twelve  villains!     What  would  I  with  hounds? 
(Aside.)  Unless  they  were  bloodhounds  of  a  kind  I 
dream  of ! 

2D  SLAVE 

He  says,  you  will  like  these,  master;  for  they  are 
Of  the  true  old  Cadmean  breed. 

PHIL. 

Hah!  what? 
Of  the  Cadmean  breed?     Twelve  hounds! 

2D  SLAVE 

And  trained 
To  hunt  all  manner  of  beasts. 


PELOPIDAS  213 

PHIL. 

Bring  him  before  me. 
(Exit  20  SLAVE.) 

PHIL. 

Get  you  to  the  kitchen,  sirrah,  and  see  the  dancers 
And  harpers  well  bestowed.    (Exit  i  ST  SLAVE.)    Twelve 

hounds?     Twelve  hounds? 
Of  the  Cadmean  stock, — and  trained  to  hunt 
All  manner  of  beasts !     That  has  a  meaning  in  it. — 
(Enter  PELOPIDAS,  disguised  as  before,  with  20  SLAVE.) 

PHIL. 

Get  you  away;  seek  out  my  nephew  Melon: 

I  have  occasion  for  him.     (Exit  2D  SLAVE.) — Are  you 

mad? 

Speak  not  above  your  breath.     You  have  enter 'd  into 
The  tiger's  den;  and  the  least  syllable 
Of  your  known  voice  would  rouse  more  fear  and  fury 
Than  a  loud  trumpet. 

PELOP. 

You  have  sharp  eyes,  Philidas? 

PHIL. 

For  heaven's  sake,  go.      A  moment,  and  the  tyrants, 
The  Polemarchs,  are  with  us. 

PELOP. 

Am  not  I 

Also  a  guest?     I  come  to  sup  with  them, — 
I  and  some  others  that  they  wot  not  of. 
I  pray  you,  moderate  your  fears :  if  you 
Stand  safely  in  their  favours,  all  is  well. 


214    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PHIL. 

And  if  they  see  you  ? 

PELOP. 

Well,  they  will  see  naught 
But  a  poor  abject  clod,  a  grovelling  peasant. 
They  see  not  with  your  eyes :  and  I  have  had  proof, 
Even  at  your  doors,  that  my  disguise  conceals  me. 
That  varlet,  Kalon,  he  that  has  dwelt  years 
Among  my  household, — he  that  let  me  in, 
And  spake  with  me, — he  did  not  know  me.     Where 
fore 

Content  ye;  and  advise  me  why  ye  sent  not 
An  answer  to  my  messenger  ? 

PHIL. 

A  messenger ! 

PELOP. 

That  moment  I  a  hint  received  of  this 

Your  festival,  I  sent  ye  word  again 

I  should  be  with  you.     The  knave  was  trusty,  too : 

This  must  be  looked  to. 

PHIL. 

But  your  twelve  hounds, — twelve  friends ! 
Brought  ye  no  more? 

PELOP. 

They  have  all  sworn  to  die, 
Or  free  their  country, — and  they  are  enough. 
Send  for  them  at  the  Delian  Gate :  they  lie 
Among  the  rocks  beneath  the  wall. 


PELOPIDAS  215 

PHIL. 

TheDelian? 

'Twas  at  th'  Athenian  port  I  looked  to  find  you; 
And  there  my  nephew  waits. 

PELOP. 

Well,  let  him  seek  them 

At  the  Delian  Gate,  where  they  lie  hid :  the  others, 
Four  hundred  armed  and  desperate  men  are  posted, 
(Or  will  be,  soon),  upon  the  Hill  of  Fortune. 

PHIL. 

It  shall  be  done. — Perhaps,  I  could  explain 
This  luckless  riddle  of  the  messenger; 
But  more  delay  were  dangerous. 

PELOP. 

Are  all  things 

Ready  for  midnight  ?     In  the  street,  I  saw 
An  old  man  perishing. — But  'tis  no  matter — 
I  thought  me  of  my  father ! 

PHIL. 

These  things  are  common. 

PELOP. 

Common!     Yes, — common,     where     Tyranny    hath 

planted 

Her  iron  foot,  and  men  permit  to  trample. 
Alas,  my  Philidas !  is  not  many  unworthy 
The  gift  of  freedom  ?     I  ask  myself,  Wherefore 
Is  Thebes  enslaved?     There  are  a  million  men, 


216    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Whom  three  men  tread  upon,  rob,   scourge,  and 

murder, — 

Do  what  they  will  with;  and  the  million  sit 
Passive  and  cowering,  as  if  'twere  gods  that  ruled 

them, 

Not  men, — infernal  deities,  whom  neither 
Fire  nor  steel  can  harm,  not  perishing  creatures, 
Whom  wasps  might  sting  to  death,  or  a  mere  schoolboy 
Slay  with  an  arrow! 

PHIL. 

This  is  the  stupor  ever 

Of  bondage, — and  ill  the  gods  inflict,  to  punish 
Our  wickedness,  and,  in  that  stupor  only, 
Make  it  endurable  or  possible. 
When  heaven  relents,  the  slumber  ends,  and  men 
Start  up  their  own  avengers. — But  now,  I  pray  you, 
Bethink  you  of  your  danger,  and  depart. 
Proceed  to  Charon's  house;  whereto  your  followers 
Shall  be  conducted. 

PELOP. 

To  Charon's? 

I  have  a  thing  here — I  had  thought  to  quell  it; 
But  'twill  not.— Philidas!— 

(Distant  trumpets  heard.) 

PHIL. 

Hark!  the  Polemarchs! 
It  is  the  trumpets  of  their  guards,  their  Spartans ! 

PELOP. 

Were  they  posted  round  your  doors,  I  have  a  question, 
Which  must  be  answered  ere  I  leave  you. 


PELOPIDAS  217 

PHIL. 

Speak  it. 

PELOP. 

I  have  a  wife  here,  Philidas— What !  shrink  you? 

The  weakness  of  my  nature,  (I  confess  it: 

My  heart  yearned  like  a  girl's,  when  I  bethought  me 

Of  her,  long  left  deserted  and  in  peril:) — 

This  weakness  led  me  even  to  the  door 

Of  my  retired  mansion;  where,  instead 

Of  an  obscure  and  quiet  solitude, 

Such  as  should  in  a  matron's  house  prevail, 

I  found  the  casements  flashing  with  the  light 

Of  flambeaux,  and  the  halls  reechoing 

With  songs  and  revelry.     It  chilled  my  heart 

What  means  it,  Philidas? 

PHIL. 

Now  shame  upon  you! 
At  such  a  time,  to  think  of  aught — 

PELOP. 

I  say, 
What  means  it,  Philidas  ? 

PHIL. 

Fy»  fy!  perhaps 

She  hath  invited  friends.     Our  goodly  dames 
Must  have  their  pleasures,  even  the  while  their  hus 
bands 

For  them  their  rich  lives  are  adventuring. 
Pr'ythee,  away  now;  and  believe  there's  nothing 
Evil  in  what  thou'st  seen. 


218    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PELOP. 

Believe!  believe! 

Nothing  of  evil!     What  thou  knowest,  Philidas, 
Though  it  were  such  an  evil  as  would  crush 
My  heart  to  dust,  and,  for  the  laurel  crown, 
Cover  my  head  with  shame,  advise  me  of  it. 
I  will  not  stir,  till  thou  hast  told  me  all. 

PHIL. 
Repress  your  indignation  then.     Leontidas — 

PELOP. 

Leontidas ! — I  ask  you  of  my  wife, 
Of  my  Sibylla :  speak  to  me  of  her. 

PHIL. 

First;  then,  your  house,  confiscate  long  ago, 
Is  now  the  palace  of  Leontidas. 

PELOP. 

Well! 

PHIL. 

But  you  tremble? 

PELOP. 

Go  on — My  house, 
The  palace  of  Leontidas ! 

PHIL. 

Wherein 

His  parasites, — those  meaner  ones  that  are 
From  my  high  feast  excluded, — hold,  perhaps, 
A  revel  of  their  own. 


PELOPIDAS  219 

PELOP. 

Why,  this  is  well,— 

Well,  well!  but  nothing  of  my  wife!    Has  he, 
This    Thebes-born   Spartan,    the   renegade,    through 

whom 

Sparta  wrought  out  our  ruin, — has  he,  then, 
Driven  her  forth, — her  and  her  little  infant? 

PHIL. 

Not  so:  they  are  both  still  in  the  house, — detained, 
I  am  sure,  unwilling. 

PELOP. 

What!  ha,  ha!  unwilling? 
Come,  you  mete  out  your  niggard  words  as  if 
They  were  life-drops   from   your    heart. — They   are 

enamoured ! 
Is  it  not  so? — Women  are  fickle,  Philidas! 

PHIL. 

This  is  the  rumour. — 

PELOP. 

I  will  kill  her,  Philidas! 

PHIL. 

You  rave !     It  is  but  rumour. 

PELOP. 

What!  to  fright  me, 

With  the  palsying  grasp  of  a  domestic  shame, 
From  the  bright  pathway  of  eternal  honour! 


220   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PHIL. 

I'll  stake  my  life  upon  Sibylla's  faith. 
How  can  she  hinder,  if  the  Polemarch 
Will  choose  to  love,  or  to  imprison  her? 

PELOP. 

Love  her!     The  gods  confound  him — I  will  grind  him 
To  atoms!  tear  him  to  pieces! 

PHIL. 

Why  so  thou  shouldst. 

Such  wrong  should  move  thee  faster  in  thy  purpose, 
And  stir  thee  onwards  to  a  great  revenge. 

PELOP. 

Revenge!     Thou  dost  not  know  me,  Philidas. 
I  would  have  sacrificed  him  to  my  country ! 
This  sinks  my  virtue  into  personal  fury, 
And  makes  the  deed  my  vengeance,  not  my  country's! 
(Trumpets  and  music.) 

PHIL. 

I  do  beseech  you,  go — And  yet,  I  fear, 
It  is  too  late. — Hark!  they  are  at  the  gates! 
Banish  these  angry  wrinkles  from  your  brow : 
Assume  humility;  and,  for  the  love 
Of  our  brave  friends,  and  for  our  country's  weal, 
Which  you  have  perilled  by  this  rashness,  speak  not : 
Of,  if  impelled  by  questioning,  remember 
You  are  here  a  peasant, — not  Pelopidas. 
Give  me  your  spear;  it  will  but  wake  suspicion. — 
(He  casts  the  spear  away.  Music.) 


PELOPIDAS  221 

(Enter  ARCHIAS,  and  PHILIP,  with  other   Guests,  and 
Attendants.) 

Health,  honour,  and  welcome  to  my  noble  princes ! 

ARCH. 

Our  trusty  Secretary  I— (To  PHILIP.)  Well!  I  tell  thee, 
These  portents,  that  alarm  the  ignorant  vulgar, 
Philosophers  laugh  at:  tell  them  not  to  me. 

PELOP. 

(A  part  to  PHILIDAS  . )     Philidas ! 

PHIL. 

Peace! 

PELOP. 
Where  didst  thou  hide  my  spear? 

PHIL. 

Where't  shall  not  serve  thy  madness. — 

PHILIP 

But  the  vision 
Seen  with  mine  own  eyes? 

ARCH. 

Why,  it  was  a  vision 
Seen  with  thine  eyes,  then, — but   thine  eyes  turned 

inward 

Upon  thy  frighted  fancies.     Fy !     I  tell  thee, 
Thou  wilt  be  laughed  at. 


222    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PHIL. 

Peace!  (Aloud.)  What  says  my  prince? 

ARCH. 

Our  brother  Philip  hath' been  pleased  to  see, 
Just  now,  some  terrible  phantom  at  the  doors 
Of  that  arch-knave,  Pelopidas. 

PHILIP 

Deride  me 

Much  as  thou  wilt;  but,  Archias,  as  I  live, 
I  tell  thee  truly :  I  was  passing  out, 
After  some  counsel  with  Leontidas; 
And  saw,  among  the  shadows  of  the  portal, 
A  gloomy  shape  that  raised  its  hand,  and  pointed 
Unto  the  house  with  menacing  gesture,  and — 
Nay,  I  remember  now,  it  did  not  speak: 
But  the  light  of  the  flambeaux  falling  on  it, 
Revealed — 

PELOP. 

What? 

PHILIP 

Hah !     What  ho,  the  guard ! 

ARCH. 

How  now? 
What  is  this  fellow  ?  And  wherefore  dost  thou  fear  him  ? 

PHIL. 

(A part  to  PELOPIDAS.)  Madman! 


PELOPIDAS  223 


PHILIP 


By  Jupiter,  two  stars,  two  comets, 
Are  not  more  like  than  were  that  shape  and  this ! 
Who  art  thou? 

PELOP. 

A  poor  peasant,  good  my  prince, — 

A  wolf  hunter.     I  pray  your  highness  pardon, 

If  that  my  ignorant  folly  did  alarm  you. 

PHILIP 

Fellow,  it  was  not  thou.     This  thing  I  saw, 
Though  like  thyself  attired,  did  bear  it  nobly: 
Ay!  and  methought  its  frowning  face  resembled 
The  aspect  of  Pelopidas! 

PELOP. 

Oh,  my  lord, 

I  am  no  traitor;  yet,  forsooth,  'twas  I. 
I  did  but  wonder,  when  I  thought  how  much 
The  gods  did  smile  on  some,  who  thus  reposed 
In  golden  palaces;  while  others,  wretches 
Like  me,  were  shivering  in  the  houseless  air, 
And  hissed  at  by  their  fates,  as  by  the  tempests. 

PHILIP 

But  thou  didst  frown! 

PELOP. 

Ay,  sooth, — and  cursed  too,- 
To  think  how,  like  a  cur,  they  drove  me  forth, 
When  I  did  beg  to  warm  me  at  their  fires, 
And  pray  for  bread  of  their  rough  menials. 


224    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Alack!     I  did  forget  that  him  the  gods 
Frown  on,  man  frowns  on  too,  adding  his  scorn 
To  the  sharp  scourges  of  adversity; 
I  did  forget  I  was  a  poor,  base  hind, 
And  they  too  rich  and  great  to  pity  me. 
Yes,  I  did  curse  them! 

ARCH. 

And  for  that,  thou  knave, 
Thou  shouldst  be  punished.     Learn  to  be  humble, 

sirrah. — 
Whence  comes  this  caitiff?     and  what  doth  he  here? 

PHIL. 

A  hunter  from  the  mountains,  good  my  prince, — 

A  poor  rude  fellow,  that  would  take  service  with  me, 

Being  weary  of  his  calling. 

ARCH. 

Let  him  be  looked  to ; — 

Dost  thou  observe? — For,  though  so  rude  and  brutish 
In  his  appearance,  there's  a  dangerous  cunning 
Lurks  in  his  eye,  and  mutters  on  his  tongue : 
Even  peasants,  sometimes,  play  the  patriot! 
Let  him  be  looked  to:  I,  upon  the  morrow, 
Will  sound  him  further.     But  no  more  business 
To-night,  which  must  be  all  given  up  to  pleasure. 
So  end  all  visions,  Philip!     Come, — to  the  banquet! 
(Exeunt,  with  music,  all  but  PHILIDAS  and  PELOPIDAS.) 

PELOP. 

(Gazing  after  Archias.)  To-morrow,  fool!  there's  not  a 

cur  in  Thebes 
Shall  think  thy  bones  too  noble  to  be  gnawn! — 


PELOPIDAS  225 

Peace,  Philidas !  thou  wilt  call  me  rash  and  mad : 

I  could  not  stand  before  them  face  to  face, 

These  things  of  clay  that  sit  i'  th'  seats  of  Heaven, 

Holding  the  reins  of  rule,  yet,  all  the  while, 

Base  as  the  things  they  rule, — these  pitiful  wretches 

(For,  sure,  they  are  pitiful,)  that  hold  in  bonds 

A  gallant  people, — a  warlike,  freeborn  people, — 

Without  being  moved  to  passion.     And  such  men 

All  Thebes  cries  Masters  to !     Well,  be  it  so: 

There  are  Thebans  yet  to  bring  them  to  the  reckoning ! 

PHIL. 

I  pray  you  now, 

Go,  and  be  wiser;  and,  as  you  shall  answer 
For  all  the  lives  that  hang  upon  your  prudence, 
Go  not  near  your  own  house. 

PELOP. 

What,  Philidas! 

Thou  should'st  not  then  have  said  it ! — But,  I  pr'ythee, 
See  that  my  friends  be  housed  with  noble  Charon. 
And,  if  thou  canst,  ply  well  the  guards  with  wine: 
Let  them  drink  deep. 

PHIL. 

It  shall  be  done,  and  well  too. 
I  have  hopes  they  will  prefer  my  nephew  Melon 
To  be  the  Captain  of  the  Guard.     And,  hearken  :— 
They  have  commanded  I  should  grace  the  feast 
With  guests  ne'er  seen  at  such  a  festival,— 
The  loveliest  and  most  noble  maids  of  Thebes ; 
Whom  Archias,  too,  would  have  (as  if  their  presence 
Were  not  enough  of  shame, )  come  garbed  for  pleasure 
In  the  Bacchante  robe  and  coronal. 

IS 


226   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PELOP. 

Enough ;  their  own  device  instructs  us.     This  will  pass 

us 

Through  their  besotted  warders. — But  beneath 
Each  flowery  crown  shall  lurk  a  stinging  adder, 
Under  each  robe  a  death. — Away,  and  lull  them. 
Act  thy  part  well,  and  think  of  us  at  midnight ! 

(Exeunt.) 

END   OF   ACT    II. 


ACT  III 

SCENE   I.    A    room   in  Charon's  house.      (Enter 
CHARON,  MELON,  DAMOCLIDES,  and  the  other  exiles.) 

CHARON 

Enter,  brave  friends!     It  warms  my  heart  to  see  you, 
To  know,  in  these  base  days  of  bonds,  there  are 
Some  Greeks  yet  that  will  sell  themselves  to  death, 
Rather  than  slavery.     But  where,  I  pray  you, 
Is  our  heart's  hope,  Pelopidas? 

DAM. 

Nay,  where? 

Sought  he  not  you  ?     He  did  advance  before  us, 
To  try  the  perilous  entrance  of  the  city. 

LAON 

Perhaps  with  Philidas? 

CHAR. 

Nay,  the  gods  forbid! 
He  haps  there  on  the  tyrants. 

LAON 

Would  my  dagger 

Were  at  the  throat  o'  th'  messenger,  that  brought  us 

227 


228   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

To  this  confusion! — Where,  then,  should  he  be? 
It  may  be,  with  Sibylla? 

MEL. 

That  were  madder 

Than  being  with  mine  uncle :  he  there  falls 
Into  the  clutches  of  Leontidas. 

LAON 

By  heaven!  he  bad  us,  each  man  on  his  truth, 
Look  not  on  wife  or  child,  till  he  could  bear  them 
The  gift  of  freedom.     'Twas  a  wise  man's  charge. 
Yet,  well  we  know,  his  strong  heart  beats  the  woman 
When  one  salutes  it  with  Sibylla's  name. 

CHAR. 

It  is  not  possible  he  who  saw  the  pit, 

And  warned  his  friends,  should  be  the  first  to  fall. 

This  were  so  rash  a  step,  so  full  of  peril 

To  our  great  enterprise,  so  full  of  shame,  too, 

To  him  that  takes  it,  and  of  wrong  to  those 

That  are  leagued  with  him — no!     I'll  ne'er  believe  it. 

It  were,  indeed,  a  madness:  for  Leontidas, 

Our  forsworn  countryman,  has  craft  and  wit 

Beyond  his  colleagues:  to  come  near  him  were 

To  be  discovered  and  so  ruined.     Tarry 

Awhile;  and  all  will  yet  go  well.     Thou,  Melon, 

Away  to  Philidas,  and  him  acquaint 

With  this  our  misadventure.     As  for  us, 

Though  leaderless,  yet  are  we  strong  enough 

To  strike  the  blow  we  aim  at. — Friends,  go  in, 

And  fit  yourselves  with  weapons  and  disguises. 

(Exeunt.) 


PELOPIDAS  229 

SCENE  II.  A  banquetting  room  in  Philidas's 
house.  ARCHIAS,  PHILIDAS,  and  the  Guests  discovered 
on  couches,  with  tables  set  out,  attended .  The  storm, 
at  intervals,  heard  without. 

ARCH. 
Raves  the  storm  yet?    Why  then,  'tis  like,  those  fair 

ones 
Will  never  grace  the  banquet  ? 

PHIL. 

On  my  head  be  it : 

Nor  frost  nor  storm  shall  keep  them  from  the  board, 
When  the  hour  comes  for  their  appointed  visit. 
Will  you  have  music  now  ?     Our  gentle  harpers, 
Lamprus  and  Dionysius,  still  can  draw 
A  smile  of  rapture  out  of  melancholy; 
And  the  soft  flutings  of  Olympiodorus 
Breathe  like  sweet  zephyrs  through  Elysium. 
Or,  lo,  these  playing,  an  invisible  choir, 
The  nimble  dancers  shall  amuse  my  prince, — 
Those  airy  spirits,  who,  in  grace,  outvie 
The  wanton  Dryads,  whom  they  imitate, 
Skipping,  as  eve  and  Dian  call  them  up, 
Through  the  green  alleys  of  a  haunted  wood. 

(Enter,  as  Wood-nymphs,  Female  Dancers,  who  dance  to 
music  of  flutes  and  other  instruments.) 

ARCH. 

Such  were  the  Nymphs  o'  th'  Wood;  of  whom  'twas 

fabled 

Their  beauty  struck  the  wandering  gazer  mad. 
Give  me,  my  Philidas,  for  nymphs  so  baleful, 


230    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Those    human    Dryads,    daughters    of   men,    whose 

charms 

Delight,  not  madden, — inflame  the  brain  to  joy, 
Not  fire  to  frenzy. — 

(Here  a  great  shout  is  heard  from  the  street,  which  arrests 
the  dance  and  music.) 

ARCH. 

Hark !     what  sound  is  that  ? 
(Enter  MELON.) 
What  means  this  clamour? 

MEL. 

Good  my  prince,  a  folly 

Of  the  poor  rabble, — the  grim  and  hungry  rogues, 
That  pause  i'  th'  street  to  catch  the  sounds  of  revel, 
And  the  cold  bits  thrown  to  them. 

ARCH. 

But  the  cause 
Of  the  great  outcry  ? 

MEL. 

'Twas  the  sudden  parting 

Of  the  dark  clouds;  through  which,  all  beauteously, 
Shone  the  bright  stars  that  Thebans  love  the  best, 
The  Orionides. 

ARCH. 
What  were  they  ? 

PHIL. 

Two  virgins 

Of  the  old  ages,  good  my  prince, — the  daughters 
Of  our  great  Titan  ancestor,  Orion, — 


PELOPIDAS  231 

Who,  when  a  pestilence  afflicted  Thebes, 

And  naught  but  such  high  sacrifice  could  stay  it, 

Gave  up  their  lives  to  save  their  countrymen. 

For  this  brave  act  of  piety,  the  gods 

Set  them  in  heaven,  star-throned;    where  now  they 

shine, 
Orbs  of  our  Theban  destinies. 

ARCH. 

It  is 

Another  omen  then!  and  the  curs  dream 
They  see  the  genius  of  their  freedom  shining ! 
This  were  rare  food  for  Philip;  who  is,  already, 
By  signs  and  portents,  set  beside  himself. — 
(Enter  PHILIP.) 

PHILIP 

Break  up  the  feast!  give  o'er  these  follies,  Archias; — 
Danger's  afoot. 

ARCH. 

Said  I  not  so ! — A  plot 

Hatched  in  the  skies,  by  th'  stars  ?     Why  this,  already, 
We  have  discovered.     Fy,  man!     Sit  you  down, 
Enjoy  the  feast,  and  think  no  more  of  portents. 

PHILIP 

'Tis  not  of  portents,  Archias,  that  I  speak. 
Strangers  are  in  the  city ! 

ARCH. 

Well!  and  when 
Are  strangers  not?     Shall  such  things  terrify  thee? 


232    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PHILIP 

They  came  by  night,  and  through  a  gate  unguarded 
Is  not  that  worth  inquiry  ? 

ARCH. 

Well,  to-morrow 

It  shall  be  look'd  to. — And,  that  the  gates  may  be 
No  longer  left  unguarded,  we  will  place 
A  trustier  captain  o'er  the  watch.     Thou,  Melon, 
(For  thus  we  show  our  love  for  thy  good  kinsman,) 
Art  now  our  officer. 
(He  gives  a  sword  to  MELON,  who  kneels  to  receive  it.) 

Punish  those  knaves 

That  have  their  posts  deserted,  and  their  places 
Supply  with  better  men. 

MEL. 

I  am  for  ever 
Your  highness'  slave! 

(Exit.) 

PHILIP 

But,  Archias, — these  men 
Already  entered? 

ARCH. 

Would  thou  couldst  sip  a  little 
Of  hellebore,  to  lull  thy  fearful  spirit, 
Ever  in  tumult !     Wilt  thou  mar  the  feast  ? 
Poison  our  joys?  recall  us  back  to  toil, — 
To  the  dry  drudgery  of  magistracy  ? 
Because,  forsooth,  strangers  are  in  the  city! — 
Merchants,  perhaps,  that  travel  with  their  wares; 
Or  trafficking  boors  that  come  betimes  to  market  ; 
Or  thieves,  slipped  in  to  rob  the  citizens. 


PELOPIDAS  233 

PHILIP 

Such  are. not  these.     A  curious  fellow  saw  them 
Received  in  Charon's  house. 

ARCH. 

I  see,  thou  hast  sworn 

To  drive  me  from  peace!     In  Charon's  house? — 
What  think'st  thou,  Philidas? 

PHIL. 

Think! — /  think,   my  prince? 
No  evil,  I  hope!     Methinks,  no  dangerous  persons 
Durst  visit  Charon. 

ARCH. 

Why,  so  think  I !     But  let  him 
Be  sent  for,  to  explain  their  character,— 
If  Philip  will  have  it  so!     Or  rather,  Philip, 
Give  this  night  up  to  pleasure;  and  let  business 
Wait  for  the  morrow. 

PHILIP 

It  shall  be  looked  to  now ! 
What  if  these  men  should  prove  conspirators? 
You'll  thank  me  for  my  terrors. 

(Exit.) 

PHIL. 

(Aside.)     Frowning  Fates! 
Avert  your  visages  from  Thebes;  or  turn  them 
Upon  her  tyrants  only ! 

ARCH. 

Philidas— 
In  faith,  thou  look'st  as  much  disturbed  as  Philip ! 


234   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


PHIL. 


Alas,  my  prince!  my  fear  is  for  your  pleasures, 
Thus  broken  in  upon  by  things  of  naught. — 
I  do  not  think  these  men  worth  apprehension. 

ARCH. 

Nor  I,  good  sooth. — But  seest  thou,  Philidas? 
This  is  a  circumstance  of  which  thy  wit 
May  make  a  weapon  'gainst  an  enemy. 
Stranger  by  Charon  harboured ! — Dost  thou  mark  ? 

PHIL. 

It  shall  not  be  forgotten. 

ARCH. 

Why,  then,  again 

We'll  turn  to  pleasure.     Let  the  tempest  rage, 
Let  omens  thicken,  and  your  Theban  stars 
Pierce  through  the  rack :  confiding  in  that  planet 
Which  rules  our  own  high,  happy  destinies 
From   this   hour  forth,    we'll   think   of  naught    but 

pleasure. 

(He  takes  his  place  at  the  table;  the  music  and  dance  are 
resumed;  and  the  scene  closes.} 

SCENE  III.  A  room  in  the  house  of  PELOPIDAS. 
(Enter  LEONTIDAS,  leading  HYLAS,  and  followed  by  a 
Slave.} 

LEON. 

The  banquet  waits  me? — It  is  naught,  without 
Sibylla's  presence! — But  this  beating  storm, 
Grows  it  still  on?  will  it  not  end  to-night? 


PELOPIDAS  235 


SLAVE 


I  heard  a  man,  who  seemed  a  soothsayer, 
Say  to  a  crowd,  that  stopped  him  in  the  street, 
The  storm  that   lowered  o'er  Thebes  would  end  at 
midnight. 

LEON. 

The  frantic  runagates !  they  have  all  day  vexed 
The  town  with  auguries,  and  dreadful  hints 
Of  blood  and  tumult.     But  enough  of  this.— 
How  fares  old  Hippoclus  ? 

SLAVE 

Not  well  content 

With  his  hard  chains  and  dreary  cell. — Good  master, 
Methinks  his  gray  hairs  might  be  spared  these  hard 
ships  ! 

LEON. 

What,  sirrah! 

Grow'st  thou  soft-hearted  ?     In  those  iron  bonds, 
And  that  dark  prison,  he  remains  a  hostage, 
Until  Pelopidas  be  cared  for.     Wherefore 
Look  to  him  well,  and  think  no  more  of  pity. 

(He  waves  the  slave  to  retire.   Exit  Slave.) 
Now,  my  young  soldier,  wilt  thou  go  with  me? 
Thou  shalt  see  rare,   brave  sights;    fine  dancers, — 

singers — 

That  shall,  with  pretty  ballads,  sing  thee  asleep, — 
And  princes,  too — princes  with  golden  crowns, 
And  purple  vests, — great  princes,  such  as  thou 
Shalt  be,  when  thou'rt  a  man. 


236   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

HYL. 

Are  they  as  great 
As  my  great  father? 

LEON. 

Greater. 

HYL. 

Did  they  win,  then, 

Their  wounds  at  Mantinea?    Or  have  they  ever 
Been  brought  off  from  the  field  upon  their  shields  ? 

LEON. 

Never. 

HYL. 

How  are  they  great  then? 

LEON. 

By  being  masters 
Of  your  father's  country. 

HYL. 

But  my  mother  told  me, 
They  did  not  win  it  fairly,  in  the  fight, 
As  great  men  do.    And,  oh!  she  told  me,  too, 
They  ne'er  had  had  it,  but  that  a  false  traitor, 
A  scurvy  wicked  Theban,  for  the  love 
Of  gold,  betrayed  it  to  them. 

LEON. 

By  black  Pluto, 
She  has  the  bitterest  tongue! — Hark  ye,  rogue, — said 

she 
This  Theban,  this  scurvy,  wicked  fellow, — was  I? 


PELOPIDAS  237 

HYL. 

No:  but  she  said,  he  was  the  only  Theban 
Among  the  Polemarchs,  the  others  being 
Perfidious  Spartans. — I  would  I  were  a  man, 
To  swinge  him ! 

LEON. 

Sirrah? 

HYL. 

I'd  do  it, — and  soundly,  too. 
Betray  his  own  land  unto  foreigners! 
Now  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think:  My  mother  told  me 
Of  a  bad  man,  Prometheus;  who,  for  stealing 
The  sun's  light  out  of  heaven,  was  chained  on  rocks, 
With  hungry  vultures  tearing  out  his  heart, 
For  thirty  long,  long  years.    Well !  such  a  man 
As  sold  his  country,  I  would  have  him  tied, 
With  thirty  thousand  vultures  round  about  him, 
Tearing  his  heart  forever  and  forever. 

LEON. 

Thou  fry  of  venom ! 

HYL. 

What!  you  are  not  angry? 

LEON. 

Hark  ye,  ye  goose, — your  mother  told  ye  that? 

HYL. 

And  if  she  did,  she  learned  it  of  my  father. 


238   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

LEON. 

Come,  you're  a  brave  bird — Will  you  go  with  me  ? 

HYL. 

I'll  ask  my  mother. 

LEON. 
Pho — think  of  the  music ! 

HYL. 

I'll  ask  her.— 

LEON. 

And  the  pictures ! 

HYL. 

Oh!   I    hope 
She'll  let  me  go. 

LEON. 

The  soldiers ! 

HYL. 

Soldiers? 

LEON. 

Come. 

HYL. 

Soldiers  with  swords,  and  shields,  and  spears,  and 

horses? 
Oh,  Jupiter!    I'll  go. 

(Enter  SIBYLLA.) 


PELOPIDAS  239 

SIB. 

What,  sirrah!  where  will  you  go? — 
This  is  not  well,  Leontidas,  thus  tempting 
My  child  with  baubles,  to  seduce  him  from  me. — 
Come,  malapert; — to  your  bed. 

LEON. 

Alas,  Sibylla, 

Wilt  thou  let  nothing  love  me  that  loves  thee  ? 
I  did  but  tempt  him  to  the  festival ; 
Where  I  would  tempt  yourself.    Relent,  fair  lady: 
Unbend ;  throw  by  this  frigid  modesty ; 
And  let  me  bid  thee  thither ;  where  thy  beauty 
Shall  bravelier  shine  than  in  this  solitude. 
Thou  shalt,  among  the  roses,  wherewithal 
We  canopy  our  princes,  sit  the  highest : 
The  proudest  dames  of  Thebes  shall  do  thee  homage, 
And  hail  thee  noblest,  as  they  own  thee  fairest. 

SIB. 

This  is  to  bid  me  sit  among  them,  lord, 
Highest  in  shame !    I  thank  thee ;  but  I  am 
A  prisoner  here. 

LEON. 

No  prisoner,  fair  lady. 
Now,  by  my  life,  thou  shalt  be  free  as  air. 

SIB. 

Ay, — to  go  to  the  banquet!    But  where  else? 

LEON. 
Where'er  thou  wilt. 


240   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


Pelopidas 


SIB. 

Why  then,  to  Athens!  to 

LEON. 


Pho!  thou  jeer'st  me.     Think  no  more 
Of  the  fall'n  traitor;  whom  to  mention  stirs  me 
To  rage.    By  heaven,  I  hate  thee,  whensoe'er 
Thou  mind'st  me  thou  art  wife  of  him  I  hate. 
His  wife  ?    His  wife  no  more !    I  do  divorce  thee ! 
(Have  I  not  power  that  am  a  prince  of  Thebes  ?) 
Divorce  thee  from  him,  free  thee  from  thy  vows, 
To  wed  thee  to  myself. 

SIB. 

His  wife  till  death! 
Naught  else  divorces  me. 

LEON. 

Well,  death  shall  do  it. 
Thou  speak'st  his  doom;  and  the  next  news  from 

Athens 
Shall  bring  thee  word  thou  art  a  wife  no  longer.  (Exit.} 

HYL. 

What  said  he,  mother? 

Shall  my  great  father  be  his  prisoner? 

SIB. 

His  prisoner?    No!    If  that  their  treacherous  arts 
Can  reach  to  Athens,  they  may  murder  him. 
The  gods  protect  him  ever  !— 

(Enter  PELOPIDAS,  as  before.) 


PELOPIDAS  241 

SIB. 

What  art  thou? 
My  women  there,  what  ho! 


The  curs  upon  me  ? 


PELOP. 

Peace ! — will  you  bring 

HYL. 

You  shan't  hurt  my  mother! 


PELOP. 

Well  said,  my  Hector! — Now,  by  Mars,  you  stand 
Staring  as  at  a  Gorgon ! 

HYL. 

Tis  my  father! 

SIB. 

Husband ! — 

PELOP. 

Stay, — let  me  look  thee  in  the  face ! — 
There's  no  dishonour  there!  by  heaven,  I  read 
Naught,  in  thy  visage,  but  my  wife!  my  wife, 
True,  fond,  and  honourable ! 

SIB. 

Oh,  Pelopidas, 
Do  I  not  dream  now,  in  this  rapture? 

PELOP. 

Jove ! 

How  the  young  fledgeling  ruffled !    Why,  thou  chick, 
Thou  shalt  be  spurred  and  sworded, — ay,  and  mounted , 
For  a  young  war ! 

16 


242    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SIB. 

Pelopidas ! 

PELOP. 

Marry,  how  now? 
Does  my  rough  casing  scare  ye  ? 

SIB. 

Fly,  I  pray  you, 
Out  of  this  house.    The  Polemarch— 

PELOP. 

I  know  it : 

Leontidas  is  master  here;  and  I, 
The  sometime  lord,  have,  like  a  prowling  thief, 
Into  his  dwelling  stolen.    But,  I  pr'ythee, 
Tell  me,  how  bears  he?    Does  he — Curses  on  him! 
He  dares — I'll  tear  him  piecemeal! — he  has  dared 
To  speak  (the  slave !)  his  fulsome  passion  to  you  ? 
By  Hercules! — But  I  scold. 

SIB. 

Oh,  my  loved  husband, 

Why  art  thou  not  content  to  be  known  brave, 
But  must  be  rash,  too? 

PELOP. 

Why?  Because,  when  nature 
Like  to  a  cunning  statuary,  cast  me 
I'  th'  mould  of  manhood,  she  forgot  to  make  me 
Of  marble! — Why,  thou  hectoring  rogue! — My  heart 

here 
Engendered  vipers;  and  whene'er  I  thought 


PELOPIDAS  243 

Of  thee,  and  these  curst  tyrants,  they  roused  up, 
And  stung  me. — What,  thou  knave !    I'll  fling  thee  up, 
Till  thou  art  lodged  among  the  stars! — Sibylla, 
Look  at  him !    By  my  faith,  I  think,  in  a  year, 
I'll  clap  a  helm  upon  his  head,  and  send  him 
To  battle. 

SIB. 
Teach  him  to  be  wise,  Pelopidas. 

PELOP. 

Wise !    Now,  by  Jupiter,  you  do  remind  me 
Of  weightier  matters  than  mere  fooling. — Tell  me, 
How  fares  my  father  ? 

SIB. 

Well:  but— 

PELOP. 

Say  no  further: 

I'll  ask  thee  on  the  morrow. — But  this  business: 
Where  is  Leontidas? 

SIB. 

Gone  forth  but  now, — 
I  think,  to  the  banquet  of  the  Secretary. 

PELOP. 

Good !    Let  them  gather ! — Did  he  anger  thee  ? 

I  know  it ! — he  call'd  thee  goddess,  and — such  knavery ! 

SIB. 

And  ere  he  went,  with  insolent  sueing,  bade  me 
To  the  feast  with  him. 


244   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PELOP. 

Caitiff!— But  I  better 

Think  on  it — He  shall  have  his  wish :  you  shall 
To  the  feast. 

SIB. 
My  lord? 


As  I  will. 


PELOP. 

To  tread  upon  his  neck ! 


SIB. 

What  do  you  mean?    What  will  you  do? 

PELOP. 

Kill  him! 

SIB. 

Kill  him! 

PELOP. 

Are  you  astonished?    Fy!    I  have  heard  you  boast, 
A  Theban  dame  could  bear  as  high  a  heart 
As  ever  a  Spartan;  and,  by  Jupiter, 
I  thought  so  too.    I  held  you  strong  of  soul, 
Not  apt  to  shake,  like  an  Arcadian  girl, 
And  show  a  face  of  chalk  at  words  of  blood : 
And  therefore  did  I  tell  you  I  would  kill  him, — 
Him  and  his  colleagues,  the  tyrant-tools  of  Sparta, 
The  morrow's  sun  shall  see  them  trampled  clods, — 
Corses  cast  out  to  feed  Boeotian  ravens. 


PELOPIDAS  245 

SIB. 

Heaven  help  thee,  then:  and,  for  my  sake,  take  care 
Of  thy  rich  life. 

PELOP. 

Thou  mean'st,  the  lives  of  those 

That  are  leagued  with  me !    But  thou  see'st  my  folly: 
It  had  been  better  could  I  have  forgot  thee. 
Well,  I  will  steal  out,  like  a  thief,  again. 
Farewell,  farewell — Hist ! 

LEONTIDAS  (Within.) 

Close  the  gates. 

SIB. 

O  heaven! 
It  is  Leontidas ! 

PELOP. 

Begone,  you  rogue! 
Hence, — to  your  bed,  and  sleep. 

(Exit  HYLAS.) 
And  I  am  here 

Without  a  weapon! — Contradict  me,  wife; 
In  whatsoe'er  I  speak,  do  thou  gainsay  me: 
Do  this,  (I'll  play  the  faithless  emissary:) 
Do  it,  and  save  your  country, — do  it  bravely! 
(Enter  LEONTIDAS,  with  Guards.) 

LEON. 

Where  is  this  skulking  hind  ?  this  prowling  thief, 
That  steals  i'  the  house  of  princes? 


246    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PELOP. 

Oh,  my  prince,  pardon! 
I — (Bid  him  hang  me!) — am  no  thief. 

SIB. 

Save — hang  him ! 
A  thief  and  robber ! 
(The  Guards  seize  upon  PELOPIDAS.) 

PELOP. 

Out,  alas,  for  pity! 
Pardon  me,  mighty  prince;  I  will  confess! 

LEON. 

Confess  what,  fellow? 

PELOP. 

Oh,  my  great  lord,  treason, — 
A  foul  conspiracy ! 

SIB. 
Do  not  believe  him. 

LEON. 

What  treason  ?    Speak, — confess !  or  in  a  mortar 
I'll  have  thee  brayed  alive.     (The  Guards  here  release 
PELOPIDAS.) 

PELOP. 

It  shall  not  need : 

Most  merciful  prince,  I  will  confess  it  all. 
Being  a  poor  abject  boor, — this  matron's  husband — 


PELOPIDAS  247 


SIB. 
Most  false!    Believe  him  not. — 


PELOP. 

Pelopidas — 

SIB. 

False !  false ! 

LEON. 

What,  knave? 

PELOP. 

Did  bribe  me — 

LEON. 

What  to  do? 

PELOP. 

To  carry,  alack!  a  most  vile,  traitorous  message 
To  his  wife  here. 

SIB. 
'Tis  false! 


And  gold,  too. 


LEON. 
Thou  shalt  have  pardon. — 

PELOP. 


Gold,  my  prince?    Pelopidas 
Did  only  promise  silver. 


248    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

LEON. 

Speak,  what  was't? 

PELOP. 

Tell  her,  ('twas  thus  he  spake,)  ere  many  days, 
P II  free  her  from  her  durance;  and  therefore  bid  her 
Be  wise,  be  confident,  be  bold,  fear  nothing. 

LEON. 

Is  this  thy  treason? 

PELOP. 

I  fear  to  speak  the  worst : — 
Tell  her,  I  come  (but  when,  he  said  not,)  with 
An  army  of  Athenians,  that  shall  end 
The  Theban  Tyranny. 

LEON. 

Hah!  Athenians? 

PELOP. 

I  am  sorry  I  did  listen  to  the  traitor. 

But  being  a  starving  man,  (alas!  you  know  not 

How  penury  drives  the  wretched  to  misdeeds !) 

He  bribed  me  thus  to  be  his  messenger. 

Now,  if  your  greatness  will  but  pardon  me, 

I'll— 

SIB. 

Do  not  listen  to  him;  he  deceives  you. 


PELOPIDAS  249 

LEON. 

Fair  dame,  forgive  me — 'Tis  most  manifest, — 

A  shallow  plot.    And  you  will  still  prefer 

This  desperate  fugitive,  this  schoolboy  schemer, 

That  can  no  plot  frame,  but  must  take  his  wife 

And  servant  to  his  counsels, — him  prefer 

To  th'  rival  that  his  projects  laugh  to  scorn, 

And,  with  a  turn  o'  th'  ringer,  counteracts  them! — 

Fellow,  if  I  forgive  thee,  and  employ  thee, 

At  such  high  wages,  (See!  'tis  gold;  enough 

To  make  thee  rich !)  canst  thou  be  true  and  honest  ? 

PELOP. 

True  as  my  dog, — and  honester ! 

LEON. 

Then  shalt  thou 
Away  to  Athens. 

PELOP. 

Blithely! 

LEON. 

And  assure 

Pelopidas,  as  from  his  wife,  (you  hear  now?) 
His  friends  in  Thebes  have  raised  a  numerous  party. — 

PELOP. 
Is't  true  though? 

LEON. 

Who  await  his  coming, 
To  strike  for  freedom.     Canst  thou  swear  him  this? 


250   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PELOP. 

Deeply; — and  call  the  gods  to  witness  it. 

LEON. 

Here's  gold  for  thee. 

PELOP. 

O  Jupiter !  gold !  gold ! 
I  will  away  to  horse  right  instantly. 

LEON. 

Stay :  'tis  a  bitter  night :  the  storm  will  freeze  thee. 

PELOP. 

I  am  too  rich  to  fear't.    To-night,  my  prince! 
I'll  be  in  Athens  at  the  sunrise. 

LEON. 

Nay; 

At  sunrise  thou  shalt  go.    To-night  I'll  lodge  thee, 
And  lodge  thee  well  too,  under  mine  own  roof. 

PELOP.   (Aside.) 
Infernal  gods ! 

LEON. 
What  ails  thee? 

PELOP. 

I  did  leave 

In  Athens,  an  old  mother,  that,  but  for  me, 
Must  perish, — miserably  perish.    Alas! 
For  pity  now,  I  pray  your  excellent  highness,' 
Bid  me  set  forth  to-night. 


PELOPIDAS  251 

LEON. 

Guards,  take  this  fellow; 
(The  Guards  seize  PELOPIDAS  again.) 
Lodge  him  with  the  dotard:  if  he  struggle,  chain  him. 
Knave!    I  suspect  thee;  and,  methinks,  thy  visage 
I  have  seen  before?    What,  sirrah? 

PELOP. 

Oh,  ye  gods! 
Have  ye  no  pity,  and  no  piety? 

LEON. 

Take  him  away.    Thou  fool,  that  thought 'st,  with  wit 
So  poor  and  shallow,  to  deceive  a  prince ! 
At  sunrise,  in  the  court,  thy  naked  body 
Shall  be  the  target  of  an  hundred  archers. 

SIB. 

My  lord !  my — 

PELOP. 

Woman ! — Well,  you'll  find  me  honest, 
Though  you  suspect  me. — Is  the  lady  frighted? — 
But  my  poor  mother,  whom  I  did  desert, — 
How  she  will  curse  me ! 

LEON. 

Hence  with  him ;  confine  him. 

PELOP. 

(Apart  to  SIBYLLA,  as  he  passes  her.) 
Fetch  me  a  dagger ! 

(Exit,  gaurded.) 


252    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

LEON. 

Now,  how  poorly  looks 

The  man  thou  lov'st,  thus  baffled,  and  exposed 
In  all  his  arts  and  weakness ! 

SIB. 

Pardon,  prince, 

For  his  poor  messenger!    (Aside.)    Alas! — that  I 
Could  better  dissemble! — Spare  his  life,  I  pray  you: 
He  is  too  mean  and  poor  for  your  revenge. 
Pity  him  and  discharge  him. 

LEON. 

What !  again 

To  aid  my  foe  against  me  ?    I  did  purpose 
To  slay  the  caitiff.    But,  if  you  will  ransom 
So  base  a  knave,  or  any  hundred  such, 
Grant  me  my  boon,  and  you  shall  have  your  will — 
Come  to  the  banquet ! 

SIB. 

Not  to  save  a  thousand, 
Though  each  one  were  Pelopidas ! 

LEON. 

He  dies  then. 

SIB. 

Then  let  him  die !    Were  it  Pelopidas's  self, 
Thus  would  himself  command  me :  Death,  with  honour, 
Though  on  the  block;  not  life,  with  infamy! 

(Exeunt.) 

END  OF  ACT  III. 


ACT  IV 

SCENE  I.  A  room  in  CHARON'S  house.  (Enter 
CHARON,  with  MELON,  who  is  in  armour,  LAON, 
DAMOCLIDES,  and  the  other  Exiles.) 

LAON 

Inform  us  truly — was  he  with  thine  uncle  ? 
Or  has  he  been  ?  or  knows  thine  uncle  of  him  ? 

MEL. 

By  Jove,  I  cannot  say,  nor  could  I  learn: 
I  could  not  come  to  speech  with  Philidas. 
For  know,  thou  trembling — 

LAON 

Trembling?  I  can  die 
As  boldly  as  my  betters.    But  to  be  thus 
Lopped  of  our  head  and  right  arm,  in  our  leader, 
Is  bat  exordium  to  our  general  ruin. 

DAM. 

It  wants  an  hour  to  midnight. 

LAON 

And  ere  then 
We  are  bought  and  sold. 

253 


254    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CHAR. 

How,  Laon! 


Can  ye  not  see  it? 


LAON 

Are  ye  stones? 


DAM. 

What? 

LAON 

We  have  been  decoyed 
Into  a  net  here,  by  this  prating  Vulcan; 
Who  hath  toiled  us,  like  his  crafty  prototype, 
In  our  own  loves, — our  country  being  our  mistress. 

\ 

CHAR. 

These  are  dark  words. 

DAM. 
And  slanderous! 

LAON 

How  comes  it, 

He  has  parted  from  us,  in  our  hour  of  peril? 
We  were  wise,  my  masters !  to  intrust  our  lives 
In  the  frail  keeping  of  a  man  whose  fate, 
Up  to  this  hour,  so  checkered  and  disastrous, 
Clambers  to  instant  grandeur  on  our  ruin. 

CHAR. 
He'll  not  betray  us? 


PELOPIDAS  255 

DAM. 

Not  until  the  gods 
Confound  all  good,  and  make  the  best  the  basest. 

LAON 

What  matters  whether  he  be  false  or  true  ? 
Folly  may  do  the  work  of  perfidy. 
It  is  enough  we  are  endangered  by  him. 
And,  on  no  groundless  fear  of  his  defection, 
I  counsel  all,  while  still  the  road  is  open, 
Retreat  to  Athens. 

DAM. 

And  forever  after, 

While  the  world  holds  together,  be  recorded 
Its  pitifull'st  cravens! 

MEL. 

Right,  right!  Damoclides. 
And,  for  the  satisfaction  of  my  friend  here, 
This  man  who  trembles  not,  yet  counsels  trembling, 
Know,  you  must  stay,  flight  is  impossible: 
The  gate  you  found  un watched,  is  now  well  manned 
By  throngs  of  Spartan  soldiers,  for  the  which 
Thank  me. 

CHAR. 

You? 

MEL. 

And  the  Polemarchs, — who  have  made  me 
Their  Captain  of  the  Guard,  I  thank  their  worships! 
For,  in  the  execution  of  mine  office, 


256   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

(And  to  carve  out  an  easier  path  for  you,) 
I  from  their  sacred  persons  have  withdrawn 
Half  of  their  myrmidons. 

LAON 

We  are  lost  then ! 

MEL. 

Lost? 

And  still  'tis  Laon  says  it !    Why  did  ye  bring 
This  oracle  among  you  ? — Hark  again ! 
Long  did  I  counsel  with  my  wit,  to  find 
What  plausible  circumstance  would  bear  me  out 
In  further  diminution  of  the  guard ; 
When,  lo,  Leontidas,  upon  some  fear, 
(I  know  not  what,)  commands  me  to  despatch 
A  party  to  his  house;  and  I  have  done  it. 

CHAR. 

This  were  most  fortunate,  were  our  leader  with  us. 

MEL. 

It  is  so  still.    Our  leader's  but  a  man; 
A  great  and  valiant  one,  in  truth;  but  not 
So  necessary  to  our  enterprise, 
We  needs  must  drop  it,  when  his  arm  is  wanting. 
Hark  ye:  the  guards — (my  knaves,  that  watch  the 

princes, — ) 

Shall  have  their  cups,  and  each  a  drugged  cup,  too. 
Get  ye  your  swords;  and,  at  the  gloom  of  midnight, 
Steal  to  mine  uncle's  house:  you  shall  have  entrance. 

LAON 

I  like  not  this. 

(A  knocking  is  heard.) 


PELOPIDAS  257 

CHAR. 

Peace ! 

DAM. 

Hark! 

LAON 

We  are  betrayed ! 

MESSENGER  (Within.) 
F  th'  name  of  the  Polemarchs,  I  bid  ye  open. 

LAON 

Lost!  lost!  discovered! 

MEL. 

Peace, — and  get  ye  in. 

This  pigeon  will  ruin  us. — If  you  are  known, 
Knock  'em  o'  th'  head,  and  raise  the  citizens. 
They  must  not  see  me  here.    Get  in,  I  say ; 
And,  if  you  must,  fight, — and  fight  bravely. 
(Exit  MELON.     The  others  all  retire,  except  CHARON, 
who  opens  the  door.    Enter  MESSENGER.) 

CHAR. 

What  is  the  matter,  that  so  noisily 
You  come  into  my  dwelling? 

MESS. 

I  am  charged 

To  bid  you,  Charon,  straight  appear  before 
The  Polemarchs. 

CHAR. 

And  wherefore? 
17 


258    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

MESS. 

For  the  reason, 
You  will  hear  it  from  themselves. 

CHAR. 

Presently,  at  the  door, 

I  will  attend  you:  I  will  but  fetch  my  cloak, 
And  follow  you. 

(Exit  MESSENGER.) 
What  ho,  my  son!    Lycophron! 
My  cloak  here! — This   disturbs  me. — Friends,   come 

forth! 
(Re-enter  DAMOCLIDES,  LAON,  and  the  other  Exiles.) 

DAM. 

Are  we  discover'd? 

CHAR. 

I  know  not.     I  am  bidden 
Before  the  tyrants. 

LAON 

By  heaven,  thou  wilt  betray  us! 

DAM. 

Laon,  for  shame ! 

(Enter  the  boy  LYCOPHRON,  with  a  cloak.) 

CHAR. 

I'll  show  thee  how  to  punish 
The  deed  of  treachery  thy  fear  imagines. 
I  have  my  son  here — look !  the  only  child 
Of  my  life's  autumn.    Take  him  in  your  keeping: 
And  when  you  are  certain  (mark  me,  Laon,  certain,) 
I  have  betrayed  you, — kill  him. 


PELOPIDAS  259 

DAM. 

Pardon  us, — 

Or  rather  him,  good  Charon;  since  no  other 
Doubts  your  true  faith  and  wisdom. 

CHAR. 

Rest  content  then. 

Set  sentinels  at  the  windows  and  the  doors ; 
And  be  no  truer  to  yourselves  than  /  am. 

(Exit.) 

DAM. 

Laon,  this  peevish  and  suspicious  spirit 
Has  wronged  our  friend. 

LAON 
Why  have  they  sent  for  him  ? 

DAM. 

If  from  suspicion, — 

LAON 

If! — We  were  all  wise 

To  trust  our  necks  so  madly !    Do  you  not  think, 
The  Polemarchs  would  surely  raise  to  honour 
That  man  of  us  who  should  the  rest  betray  ? 

DAM. 

Unto  base  honour.    Fear'st  thou  such  man  among  us? 

LAON 

I  think  that  one  should  seek  PelopidasI 


260   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

DAM. 

Where? 

LAON 

Where  my  fears  report  him, — with  his  wife. 
Will  you  trust  me,  in  this  office? 

DAM. 

Trust  you,  Laon! 

We  are  brothers  in  this  enterprise;  and  each 
Finds  in  his  fellow  but  a  second  self. — 
I  think,  'tis  needless. 

LAON 

I  will  find  you  out 

What  base  we  stand  on,  which  now  shakes  beneath  us, 
As  if  'twould  ope  and  swallow  us.    This  doubt 
Is  worse  than  danger.    I  will  hence,  and  fathom 
The  riddle  of  our  leader's  vanishing. 

DAM. 

Perhaps  he  is  tempting  forth  the  citizens, 

T'  invest  the  citadel:  and  one  imprudence 

Might  blast  the  coming  fruit  of  all  his  labour. 

What  if  yourself,  by  some  mischance,  should  stumble 

Upon  an  enemy  ? 

LAON 

You  do  not  fear  me  ? 

DAM. 

Fear  you?    Most  surely  no. 


PELOPIDAS  261 

LAON 

Then  I'll  attempt  it. 
And,  if  you  doubt  me,  I  will  swear — 

DAM. 

You  have, 

Already,  your  spirit  pledged  to  the  black  Furies, 
If  you  should  fail  us  in  one  article 
Of  our  most  solemn  covenant.    Be  but 
Discreet  in  what  you  do;  we  ask  no  further. 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  II.  The  banquetting-rooms  in  PHILIDAS'S 
house  seen  behind,  with  tables  and  guests;  in  front,  an 
Ante-room,  into  which  Enter  ARCHIAS  and  PHILIP, 
attended  by  PHILIDAS. 

ARCH. 

Thou  wert  fitter  for  an  augur  than  a  prince, — 
A  priest  of  melancholy  Proserpine, — 
A  servitor  of  the  dim  Trophonian  cave, 
Where  all  is  night,  and  mystery,  and  horror. 
How  wretched  he  whom  Fear  thus  dominates, 
Scourging  with  every  fancy ;  who  sees  a  spectre 
In  every  shadow  of  the  night,  or  hears  it 
Wailing  on  every  wind. 

PHILIP 

More  wretched  he, 
Buried  in  pleasure  and  security, 
Who  shuts  his  sense  'gainst  every  warning  token, 
Wherein  the  wise  may  read  their  destiny. 
I  tell  thee,  Archias,  this  drowsy  ease 


262    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Suits  not  the  time,  when  dangers  lower  around  us. 
The  air  is  big  with  them,  the  city  alive 
With  hints,  and  rumours,  and  whispering  expectation, 
That  prates  of  mischief  and  conspiracy. 
What  if  these  knaves  be  exiles  ?    Are  we  ready 
To  meet  their  rancorous  onset  ?    Are  we  safe 
Even  here,  so  fondly  sitting  at  the  feast  ? 
Our  new-made  officer,  upon  some  whim, 
Has  half, — nay,   more  than  half, — the  guard    with 
drawn. 

PHIL. 

Please  you,  my  prince,  'twas  done  upon  no  whim. 
My  lord  so  willed  it,  and  I  did  advise  it. 

ARCH. 

In  faith,  'twas  done  to  please  thyself.     I  sent  them 
To  guard  the  gates.     And  hereby,  if  an  exile 
(As  you  will  have  it  so,)  have  crept  upon  us, 
We  have  him  safe. 

PHILIP 

And  then,  another  party 
Leontidas  hath  sent  for  to  his  house. 
Is  there  no  fear  in  that  ?    Leontidas 
Was  ever  shrewd  and  wary. 

ARCH. 

Let  him  fear, — 

And  all  that  will :  these  bugbears  fright  not  us, 
Nor  shall  they  scowl  down  our  festivities. 
Come  these  Bacchantes  yet  ?    In  sooth,  my  brother, 
They'll  toy  these  horrible  fancies  from  thy  brain. 
(Enter  the  Messenger  and  CHARON:  Reformer  retires.) 


PELOPIDAS  263 

And  here,  to  chase  the  frightfullest  away 
Comes  our  good,  honest,  faithful  Charon. 

PHILIP 

Charon! 

How  haps  it,  that  suspicious  men  are  seen 
Received  into  your  dwelling? 

PHIL. 

Do  you  hear? 

High  highness  asks  you,  wherefore  do  you  harbour 
Strangers ;  whom,  as  we  fear — 

PHILIP 

Peace;  let  him  answer. — 
Upon  my  life,  he  changes  countenance ! 

CHAR. 

Alas !    I  hope  there  was  naught  evil  in  them ! 

ARCH. 

'Tis  true,  then?    Why,  there  may  be  evil  enough. 
Who  and  what  are  they? 

CHAR. 

May  it  please  my  prince, 

Poor  hinds  returned  from  hunting ;  who  besought  me 
To  buy  their  fortune  of  the  day, — a  boar 
And  hart  o'  th'  mountains. 

ARCH.  (To  PHILIP.) 

Never  tell  me  more 
Of  your  redoubted  strangers ! 


264   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CHAR. 

Their  wild  quarries 

I  satisfied  them  for,  and  so  discharged  them : — 
Mere  boors,  my  prince. 

ARCH.   (To  PHILIDAS.) 

Of  the  same  batch,  I  doubt  me, 
As  our  rough  captive  ? 

CHAR.  (Apart  to  PHIL.) 
Captive  ? 

PHIL.  (Apart  to  CHAR.) 

Peace!— So  let 

The  good  gods  lull  them  to  security. 
Are  you  ready? — Speak  not!    At  the  midnight  come. 

CHAR. 

If  still  my  lords  suspect  these  men  of  evil, 
I'll  have  them  sought  for,  and  examined. 

PHILIP 

Do  so: 

There  may  be  more  in  them  than  meets  the  eye : 
Let  them  be  found. — But,  stay — Leontidas! 

LEON. 

(Enter  LEONTIDAS.) 
Feast  on,  feast  on;  I  have  good  mirth  for  you! 

ARCH. 

Why,  that  is  better  far  than  hints  and  riddles, 
And  words  of  peril,  that  disturb  our  revels. 


PELOPIDAS  265 


LEON. 

Yet  there,  is  peril  in  't,  though  peril  over. 

I  have  now  in  my  hands  a  dangerous  fellow, — 

A  boor,  a  huntsman — 

ARCH. 

Now,  by  Hercules! 
Is  the  world  filled  with  huntsmen  ? 

PHILIP 

Treason!    treason! 

LEON. 

Why,  what's  the  matter,  that  the  word  disturbs  you? 
A  boor,  a  huntsman — 


What  more,  indeed? 


PHIL. 
Ay !  a  boor,  a  huntsman ! 

LEON. 


A  secret  emissary 

O'  th'  plotting  exiles,  whom  I  found  conferring 
With  the  wife  of  Pelopidas. 

PHIL.  (Aside.) 

Oh,  miserable! 

PHILIP 

A  figure  tall  and  sinewy  ? 

LEON. 

Ay! 


266    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ARCH. 

A  cunning 
And  prating  villain  ? 

LEON. 

What !  have  you  seen  him  ? 

ARCH. 

Hark  ye, 
Philidas,  man!  has  he  escaped  you? 

LEON. 

Hah! 

Why  this  is  rare !    What !  a  base  peasant  stalk, 
From  house  to  house,  among  the  Polemarchs ! 

PHILIP 

Is  he  secured? 

LEON. 

As  closely  as  stone  walls, 
Bolts,  and  armed  guards,  can  bind  him. 

PHIL.    (Aside.} 

Rash  and  wretched! 

PHILIP 

Now  can  I  breathe  again,  and  speak  my  thought. 
This  man,  whom,  like  a  phantom,  first  I  saw 
Under  the  shadowy  arch  of  his  own  portal — 

LEON. 

What  say 'st  thou?  hah! 


PELOPIDAS  267 

PHILIP 

By  all  the  deities, 

When,  in  the  gloom,  I  saw  him,  (better  noting 
His  angry  brow  than  coarse  attire,)  I  thought  him 
The  spectre  of  a  dead  Pelopidas ! 

LEON. 

What  ho!  more  guards!  give  me  more  guards!     I,  too, 
Saw  somewhat  in  his  face  that  woke  me  up 
Strange  recollections.     And  the  anxious  fears 
Of  his  wife  too!    By  Pluto,  it  is  he! 
And  in  our  power ! 

ARCH. 

Thou  canst  not  think  it  he? 
Hot  as  he  is,  this  were  too  mad  a  feat; 
And  ye  are  mad  to  think  it. 

LEON. 

Give  me  guards ! 

I'll  prove  it  soon.    Philidas!    Secretary! 
Send  me  an  officer  to  the  citadel; 
Bring  me  an  hundred  men:  I'll  have  no  fewer 
To  stand  in  watch  upon  the  prisoner. 
Send  for  them  straight. 

(Exit.) 

PHILIP 

Where  went  those  huntsmen,  Charon  ? 
They  must  be  found:  I  do  distrust  them  still. 

ARCH. 

Must  thou  still  rave  ?     Do  traitors  bring  such  traffic,— 
Wild-boars  and  mountain-harts? 


268    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PHILIP 

I'll  ne'er  be  satisfied, 
Till  I  have  found  them. 

(Exit.) 

ARCH. 

Now  these  lunatics 

Are  gone,  we  shall  have  peace  again.    But,  Philidas, 
How  came  this  man  with  you  ? 

PHIL. 

Upon  pretext 

Of  seeking  service — A  poor  mountaineer, 
As  I  must  needs  still  think  him:  perhaps  a  spy, 
Sent  by  the  enemy;  but,  sure,  no  exile, 
Nor  man  of  name  or  note.    For  his  escape, 
I  do  confess,  but  lightly  fearing  him, 
I  guarded  him  but  lightly. 

ARCH. 

Well,  at  least, 

He  is  safe  again.    If  there  be  evil  in  him, 
We  soon  shall  know  it.    And,  therefore,  we'll  forget 
The  rude  mishaps,  that  have  our  joys  disturbed; 
And  once  more  to  the  broken  feast  again. 

(He  retires  into  the  banquetting-room.) 

PHIL.  (Apart  to  CHARON.) 

No  words! 

His  madness  has  undone  us.     We  must  strike 
Instantly  now,  or  die.      Get  cloaks  and  garlands, 
To  pass  the  guards — We  may  be  yet  successful. 
(Exit,  CHARON;  PHILIDAS  retires  into  the  banquetting- 
room,  and  the  scene  closes.) 


PELOPIDAS  269 

SCENE  III.  A  strong  room  in  PELOPIDAS'S  house. 
(Enter from  a  vault,  PELOPIDAS,  leading  HIPPOCLUS,  the 
latter  in  chains.) 

PELOP. 

Gently;  take  heed  of  this  same  broken  step. 
The  air  is  freer  here.    What !  did  they  keep  thee 
In  that  damp  vault, — an  old  man  such  as  thou? 
And  chained  too? 

HIPP. 

Good  young  man,  who  art  thou, 
That  speak'st  such  kindness  to  old  Hippoclus? 

PELOP. 

I  ?  who  am  I?  These  hardships — But  no  matter. 
I  am  a  prisoner,  like  yourself;  and,  looking 
For  ways  of  flight,  I  drew  the  bolt  which  led  me 
Into  your  dungeon. 

HIPP. 

Then  you  are  a  foeman 
O'  th'  Polemarchs?    a  Theban  patriot. 

PELOP. 

Ay.- 
Do  you  not  know  me?    Look! — here,  in  the  light! 

HIPP. 

Alas,  mine  eyes  are  sightless. 

PELOP. 

Hah! 


270   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

HIPP. 

Imprisonment 
I*  th'  sickly  cell,  and  failing  age,  and  sorrow — 

PELOP. 

Gods !  and  he  still  did  chain  you  ? — O  my  father ! 

HIPP. 

Methinks  thy  voice  is  like  my  son's:  but  he — 
Yes!  he  was  banished  by  the  Polemarchs. 

PELOP. 

Father !  my  father !  will  you  not  now  know  me  ? 

HIPP. 

Art  thou  Pelopidas,  and  a  prisoner? 
Thy  tones  are  his:  but  the  first  vow  I  taught  him, 
(Bravely  he  swore  it,  too,)  was  ne'er  to  yield  him, — 
To  die  i'  th'  field,  ne'er  live  a  prisoner! 

PELOP. 

I  swore  't,  and  I  have  broke  it. — But  they  took  me 
Unarmed. 

HIPP. 

Away,  false  slave!  thou  art  not  he. 
Pelopidas  among  his  foes  unarmed ! 

PELOP. 

Father! 

HIPP. 

Unarmed?     Thou  slander'st  him.      My  son 
Sleeps  with  a  sharpened  dagger  in  his  hand, 


PELOPIDAS  271 

Eats  with  it  in  the  dish,  and,  at  the  altar, 
Prays  with  it  in  his  bosom, — and  so  will  do, 
Long  as  a  tyrant  lives  in  Thebes. 

PELOP. 

You  wring 
My  heart! 

HIPP. 

If  thou  beest,  then,  Pelopidas,  how  art  thou 
In  Thebes  a  prisoner  ? 

PELOP. 

I  came  to  free  it. 

HIPP. 

And  art  a  captive?     Go!    Pelopidas 

Was  not  more  valiant-souled  than  he  was  wise. 

PELOP. 

Still  am  I  he;  and  can  such  proofs  discover 

As  will  your  doubtings  change  to  curses.     I 

Am  he,  whom,  foolishly,  my  fellow  patriots 

(The  only  Thebans  left  to  strike  for  Thebes,) 

Chose  for  their  leader.    And  this  post  of  honour, 

Diademed  round  with  glory,  like  a  boy, 

An  idiot  rustic,  I  have  thrown  away. 

Nor  that  alone :  I  have  destroyed  my  friends, 

And  slain  my  country:  they,  upon  the  block, 

Whither  myself  have  dragged  them,  bleed;  and  Thebes 

Robbed  of  her  sons,  remains  a  slave  forever! 

HIPP. 
Art  thou  Pelopidas,  and  hast  done  this? 


272    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PELOP. 

Curst  be  the  tongue,  that,  with  foul  slander,  stung  me 
Into  the  madness  that  has  done  the  wrong ! 
Or  curst  the  weakness  of  my  own  vile  nature, 
Which  thus  could  list  to  folly!    For  my  wife, 
I  have  sold  my  country ! 

HIPP. 

May  the  gods  forgive  you. 

PELOP. 

They  will  not, — cannot :  when  did  Heaven  e'er  pardon 
The  slayer  of  his  country  ? — a  traitor,  whether 
The  act  be  done  in  malice  or  in  folly. — 
Hark!  'twas  a  step! — Alas!  no  step, — no  hope! 
Time  flies — flies  fast;  and  I  am  still  a  captive. 
Until  this  hour,  I  hoped  some  chance  to  free  me ; 
When  I  had  well  redeemed  my  forfeit  honour. 
But  it  is  midnight, — midnight  that  should  have  seen  me 
Hurling  the  tyrants  from  their  thrones — 

HIPP. 

Hark!  hark! 
My  jailer. 

PELOP. 

Ha,  ha !  the  gods  be  thanked ! 

HIPP. 

What  mean'st  thou? 

PELOP. 

I'll  slay  him, — snatch  his  weapons,  and  so  cut 
My  way  to  freedom ! — Stand  aside,  and  fear  not. 
(Enter  SIBYLLA.) 


PELOPIDAS  273 

By  heaven,  Sibylla! — Didst  thou  bring  the  dagger? 
Quick!  give  it  me — Why  doest  thou   shake  thus? — 

Father! 
I  will  retrieve  mine  honour. 

SIB. 

Stay! 

PELOP. 

This  weapon 
Makes  me  a  god!  ha,  ha! — How  got  ye  in? 

SIB. 
I  bribed  the  sentinel. 

PELOP. 

Is  there  but  one? 

SIB. 

But  one  man  at  the  door;  around  the  house, 

An  hundred:  you  may  see  them  from  the  window. 

PELOP. 

It  matters  not.    Armed  as  I  am  in  spirit 
To  wipe  dishonour  from  my  front, — to  save 
My  friends, — to  give  my  country  liberty, 
An  army  should  not  stop  me. — Father,  I'll  win 
Your  blessing ! 

SIB. 

Oh,  my  husband !  my  dear  husband ! 
You  will  not  out,  against  these  odds? 
it 


274    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PELOP. 

Ay,  truly, 
I  will !    Farewell — I  cannot  talk  with  thee. 

SIB. 

Thou  wilt  be  slain! 

PELOP. 
Fighting,  not  caged! 

SIB. 

O  heaven ! 
Stay  with  me. 

PELOP. 

Peace! 

SIB. 

You  are  safe  here.    Wait  until 
The  guards  are  drawn  off. 

PELOP. 

Look  to  my  father  there. 

SIB. 

Leontidas — 

PELOP. 

Hah! 

SIB. 

My  women  overheard  him 
Plotting  to  bear  me  to  the  citadel. 


PELOPIDAS  275 


PELOP. 

Why  dost  thou  prate  thus  ?    Lo !  this  steel  is  sharp ! — 
I'll  be  with  thee  anon. 

SIB. 

Well,  heaven  be  with  thee : 
I  will  not  stay  thee.    Go  forth  to  the  battle; 
And  if  thou  diest,  die  victorious. 

Come  back  the  conqueror,  and  thy  country's  saviour; 
Or,  like  a  hero,  stretched  upon  thy  shield, 
Dead,  yet  unvanquished ;  and  with  joy  I'll  meet  thee, 
As  though  thou  earnest  a  bridegroom  to  my  arms ; 
Kiss  thy  cold  lips,  and  think  them  lips  of  love; 
Wipe  thy  red  wounds,  and  call  them  nuptial  jewels; 
And  strow  thine  honoured   corse  with   flowers   and 

wreaths 

Rich  as  e'er  decked  a  living  conqueror — 
With  flowers,  not  tears! 

PELOP. 

There  spoke  my  noble  wife! 
My  Theban  wife!    Talk  thus;  and  I  will  fight 
Till  Sparta  buckles! 

SIB. 

I'll  wrap  my  cloak  about  thee: — 
(PELOPIDAS  throws  off  his  cloak  of  skins,  and  puts  on 
SIBYLLA'S  mantle.) 

SIB. 

Perhaps,  thus,  thou  may'st  pass  the  sentinel, 
And  reach  the  doors  in  safety.    Then — and  then — 
Oh  gods! 


276    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PELOP. 

And  then,  Sibylla, 

Like  dogs  I'll  scatter  them!    And  so  I  bid  you 
Be  not  alarmed;  fear  naught — What,  father! 
Will  you  not  know  me  now? 

HIPP. 

Go  forth  and  prosper. 
Thou  art  still  my  valiant  son. 

PELOP. 

Remain  with  him. 
Be  of  good  heart,  and — rear  my  boy  to  honour. 

(Exit.) 

HIPP. 

What,  is  he  gone?    The  great  gods  go  with  him! 

SIB. 

Hist! — If  the  guard  should  stop  him?     Hark!     My 
father! 


He  will  be  slain! 


HIPP. 

Fear  not. 


SIB. 

Hark!  hark!  I  hear 

The  clash  of  armour! — From  this  window,  I 
May  see  him — perish ! 

(She  looks  from  the  window) 

Oh !  ye  pitying  gods, 

He  is  at  the  door ! — They  rush  upon  him ! — See ! 
They  strike  him!    Help  him,  Jupiter,  with  thunder! 
Ah !  heaven ! — 


PELOPIDAS  277 

HIPP. 

What  see'st  thou? 

SIB. 

No ! — it  was  a  Spartan, 
Struck  to  his  feet! — Now!  now!  Pelopidas! 
Strike! — strike  again,  and  fly!    Ha,  ha!  by  heaven, 
He  is  clear !    Fly  swiftly !  swiftly ! — He  is  safe ! 

HIPP. 

Daughter  ? 

SIB. 

Safe!  safe! — he  has  fled;   the  darkness 
hides  him ! 

Safe !  he  is  safe,  my  father !  the  good  gods 
Have  shielded  him — We  are  not  yet  deserted ! 
(She  kneels;  HIPPOCLUS  extends  his  hands,  as  in  prayer; 
and  the  curtain  falls  upon  the  tableau.) 

END  OF  ACT  IV. 


ACT  V 

SCENE  I.    A   room  in  CHARON'S  house.     (Enter 
DAMOCLIDES  and  other  Exiles.} 

DAMOCLIDES 

Nor  Laon  nor  Charon  yet  returned ;  Pelopidas 

Vanished  away,  unheard  of;  Melon  absent; 

Ourselves  walled  round  with  shadows  none  can  pierce, 

And  dangers,  too:  yet  let  not  this  disturb  us. 

Let  no  man's  spirit  fail.    If  we  must  fall, 

Yet  we  fall  nobly ;  and  hereafter,  Thebes, 

By  others  freed,  shall  hold  our  memories  dear, 

As  her  true  sons  and  martyrs.    But  I  hope 

A  better  fortune  yet.    Pelopidas, 

Though  ta'en,  and  on  the  rack,  could  ne'er  betray  us; 

And  Charon's  faith  is  sure  as  any's.    More 

I  fear  from  Laon.    Yet  I  would  not  wrong  him. 

Pelopidas  ever  held  him  in  regard. 

(Enter  CHARON.) 

DAM. 

What,  Charon !  safe  and  unsuspected  are  we  ? 

CHAR. 

Not  safe,  not  unsuspected.  Danger,  growing, 
With  every  beat  o'  th'  pulse,  more  imminent, 
Lowers  around  you.  But  you  yet  may  save 

278 


PELOPIDAS  279 

Yourselves,  and  Thebes  too.    Arm:  and  quickly,  here, 
Put  on  these  women's  cloaks  and  coronals : 
And  then  to  the  tyrants. 

DAM. 

But  our  chief?    Pelopidas? 
Have  you  no  words  of  him  ? 

CHAR. 

Alas,  too  many ! 

Think  not  of  him;  or,  if  you  do,  forgive  him. 
His  rashness  has  undone  him ;  and  he  is  now 
I'  th'  hands  o'  th'  Polemarchs. 


Ruined  by  rashness? 


In  his  own  house. 


DAM. 

A  prisoner! 

CHAR. 

Ay:  a  prisoner 

DAM. 


We  did  mistake  him  then ; 
Whom  (on  success  of  this  our  enterprise,) 
We  had  hailed  gladly  supreme  Bceotarch, 
Chief  of  all  Thebes.    What  can  we  do  without  him? 


CHAR. 


Die,  (if  we  must  hope  nothing,)  die  like  freemen, 
With  arms  in  hand ;  not  tamely  wait  to  perish 
Upon  the  headsman's  block. 


280   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

DAM. 

Why,  let  us  on,  then, 
For  death  or  victory, — for  Pelopidas, 
The  loved  of  Thebes :  we  may,  perhaps,  yet  save 
His  life,  though  never  his  honour — Hah ! 
(Enter  PELOPIDAS,  bloody.) 

ALL 

Pelopidas ! 

PELOP. 

Ha,  ha!  mine  honour?    thou  liest,  my  Damoclides! 
Ha,  ha !  mine  honour  ?  ne'er  save  mine  honour  ?    Look ! 
Here  is  my  weapon ;  there  is  blood  upon  it ! 
The  first  libation—  'Tis  a  Spartan's! 

DAM. 

What! 
Is  it  a  Polemarch's? 

PELOP. 

With  this  little  weapon, 

Cut  I  my  way  through  twice  an  hundred  men. 
Never  mine  honour?    What,  ha,  ha!    By  Jove! 
I  am  with  you,  and  will  lead  you  where  you  will, 
With  honour!    Are  you  ready? — Oh,  Damoclides, 
Can  you  forgive  me  ? 


You  are  still  Pelopidas. 


DAM. 

Speak  of  it  no  more: 


PELOPIDAS  281 

PELOP. 

I'll  ne'er  again 

Find  fault  with  him  that's  human;  or  look  to  have 
My  friend  a  demigod!    I  have  deceived  you, 
Wronged   you,    almost   betrayed   you.      Am    I    not 

punished 

In  the  deep  torments  that  afflict  me  ?    Charon, 
I  left  my  father,  blind  and  chained,  exposed 
In  a  dungeon  to  the  fury  of  his  keepers : 
My  wife,  too,  (have  I  not  repaired  my  fault  ?) 
I  left  her  to  Leontidas !  though  nature 
Tugged  at  my  heart,  and  filled  it  with  distraction, 
I  left  her! — Come,  I  am  ready:  give  me  a  sword. 

CHAR. 

A  cloak,  too,  and  a  garland. 

PELOP. 

Ay,  a  garland. — 

Myrtle  leaves  now,  and  laurel-crowns  hereafter ! 
This  cloak  will  serve  me :  'twas  put  on  my  shoulders 
By  the  most  noble  wife  of  all  the  earth; 
And  was  the  shield,  wrapped  round  my  arm,  wherewith 
I  stopped  th'  assaults  of  all  the  myrmidons. 
Jove!  but  I  had  a  time  on't!    And  they  chased  me, 
Like  a  hurt  wolf,  launching  their  darts  and  arrows, 
As  'twere  another  tempest,  through  the  street. 
A  wolf  I  fled;  and,  like  a  wolf,  I  bore 
Their  blood  upon  my  fangs. — Hah!  are  you  ready? — 
I  prattle  like  a  girl!— All  mantled?— Follow: 
And  he  that  strikes  more  deeply  than  myself, 
Him,  though  a  slave  he  were,  I'll  make  my  master! 

(Exeunt.) 


282    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SCENE  II.  The  Street.  (Enter,  on  the  one  side, 
PHILIP,  with  Guards  bearing  torches;  and  with  them 
LAON;  on  the  other  side,  LEONTIDAS,  also  with  Guards 
and  lights.  Shouts  heard  afar  of.) 

LEON. 
What  ho!    Who  are  ye?    Stand! 

PHILIP 

Leontidas  ? 

Brother,  well  met ! 

• 

LEON. 

What  mean  these  riotous  cries  ? 
Is  it  sedition?    By  heaven,  I  took  ye  for 
A  band  of  rebels  that  would  block  my  way ! 

PHILIP 

It  is  sedition.    The  town  is  all  aflame. 
The  rumour  of  Pelopidas  in  the  city 
Has  set  all  mad;  and,  Down,  they  cry  aloud, 
Down  with  the  tyrants!    Hence  to  the  Citadel, 
If  you  would  live. 

LEON. 

Why,  let  them  roar  their  fill. 
Without  a  leader — 

PHILIP 

Think  not  that.     They  have 
Leaders  enow, — ten  banished  men,  from  Athens. 
Look  you,  I  have  one  here  that  hath  surrendered, 
And  all  their  scheme  betrayed.     Speak,  slave;  or  ne'er 
Expect  thy  life  and  pardon. 


PELOPIDAS  283 


LAON 

I  will  win  them, 

By  speaking  truth.    Twelve  men  there  were  of  us, 
Pelopidas  our  chief — 

LEON. 

Tis  true,  then  ? — Let  them  howl : 
We  have  him  safe !  and  for  the  ten — 

PHILIP 

Alas! 
There  are  four  hundred  more  that  follow  them — 

LEON. 

Hah! 

PHILIP 

And,  perhaps,  already  in  the  city. 
He  hath  told  all. 

LEON. 

Four  hundred  exiles? 

PHILIP 

Backed 
By  a  great  legion  of  Athenians. 

LEON. 

Ho,  to  the  Citadel! 

Call  all  to  arms!     There  is  our  safety;  there 
We  can  hold  out  against  a  hundred  legions. 
Thither  I'll  follow,  with  my  prisoner. 
But    hold! — Knows    Archias    this?     He    must    not 

perish, 
No  effort  made  to  save  him.     What!  my  tablets! 


284    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

A  word  will  rouse  him  from  his  revelry. 

(He  writes  upon  his  tablets  and  gives  them  to  a  Soldier.) 
With  thy  best  speed,  bear  these  to  Archias. 

(Exit  Soldier.) 

On  to  the  Citadel!    Ere  you  shall  have  reached  it, 
And  called  th'  alarm,  myself  will  be  with  you. 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  III.  The  banquetting-room,  as  before. 
ARCHIAS,  PHILIDAS,  and  Guests  discovered.  Soft 
music  heard. 

ARCH. 

Fill  wine  again,  to  chase  these  fears  away; 

And  think  of  naught  but  pleasure:  fill,  fill  deep, 

And,  in  libations  to  th'  infernal  gods, 

To  their  dark  realms  devote  our  enemies. 

By  heaven,    methinks  no'  man  hath   smiled,    since 

Philip 

Breathed  the  curst  name,  Pelopidas,  among  us ! 
Fill  to  the  brim !  Behold,  I  pour  the  offering, 
And  thus  devote  him  to  the  Furies — 

(As  ARCHIAS  is  about  to  pour  the  libation,  the  bowl 
falls  to  pieces  in  his  hand.  The  Guests  start  up.) 

ARCH. 

Hah! 

GUESTS 

An  omen! 

ARCH. 

What,  again?     Are  ye  such  sheep! 
Hath  Philip's  folly  so  infected  you? 
All  things  are  portents  to  the  ignorant; 


PELOPIDAS  285 

And  only  such  should  fear  them.     Fill  again; 

(He  takes  another  bowl;  the  Guests  resume  their  seats.) 

And  again  pour  the  offering.     Thus  again 

To  the  infernal  Orcus  I  devote  him! — 

The  cup  is  whole,  the  omen  fails  us  now! 

Speak  to  them,  Philidas.     Hast  thou  no  wisdom, 

To  drive  these  idle  terrors  from  their  breasts? 

Or  hold'st  thou,  too,  such  faith  in  presages ! 

PHIL. 

Not  I,  my  prince.     For  who  shall  say,  among 

Th'  occurrents  of  affairs,  which  ones  are  they 

Wherein  Heaven  speaks?    The  vultures  fly  all  day, 

Yet  bear  the  fates  not  always  on  their  wings; 

The  thunders  rattle  when  they  will,  without 

A  god  to  wake  them;  dreams  and  visions  move  us, 

Stirred  by  no  restless  spirits  but  our  own. 

It  is  the  error  of  our  vanity, 

To  deem  Heaven  thus,  in  trifles,  speaks  to  us. 

ARCH. 

Thou  say'st  the  truth.     Of  omens,  then,  no  more. 
Pleasure  alone  be  theme  of  speech  and  thought. 
And  him  that  frowns,  looks  sad,  or  frights  the  feast 
With  word  of  care,  I'll  hold  a  knave  and  traitor. 
The  cares  of  day  enough  the  day  employ : 
Pleasure  to-night,  and  business  for  the  morrow! — 
Come  our  Bacchantes  yet,  my  Philidas? 

PHIL. 

Anon,  my  prince. — 

(Enter  a  Soldier  of  the  Guard.) 
What  now? 


286    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SOLD. 

A  messenger 
From  Iphias  the  Athenian, — these  with  speed : 

(Gives  a  letter  to  ARCHIAS.) 
Matters  of  weight  and  peril. 

(Exit.) 

PHIL.     (Aside.) 

Lost !  discovered ! 

ARCH. 

Business  to-morrow! — Take  it,  Secretary. 
If  thou  wilt  read  it,  well :  but  tell  not  me 
Of  its  contents. 

PHIL. 

Tis  nothing. — (Aside.)  Foul  divulgement! — 
(Aloud)  Suspicions  of  the  exiles. 

ARCH. 

Now,  by  heaven, 

I'll  hear  their  name  no  more!     Let  them  plot  on, 
While  we  feast  merrily.     Fill  up  again. — 

(Re-enter  the  Soldier.) 
What,  knave,  again!     What  wilt  thou? 

SOLD. 

Please  you,  my  prince,  a  drunken  fellow  brought 
This  letter  for  his  excellence  the  Secretary. 

ARCH. 

Give   it  me,    and    begone.      (Exit  Soldier.)      What, 

Philidas! 
Our  friends  should  have  no  secrets  ? 


PELOPIDAS  287 

PHIL. 

None,  your  highness — 
(Aside.)     The  letter  of  the  Exiles !     All  is  lost ! 

ARCH. 
Faugh,  how  the  cur  hath  thumbed  it! — (To  Philidas.) 

THE  SECRETARY 

Some  beggarly  petition, 

I  doubt  me !     (He  casts  it  away.)     I  did  hope,  a  tender 

missive 
Of  some  fair  dame,  to  make  a  jest  of! 

PHIL.  (Aside.) 

Folly, 
I'll  build  an  altar  to  thee     (Music  heard  without.) 

Hark!  they  come! 
The  fair  Bacchantes ! 

(Re-enter  SOLDIER.) 

SOLD. 

A  message  from  Leontidas, 
On  business  of  great  moment. 

(He  offers  the  tablets  to  ARCHIAS,  who  refuses  them;  and 
PHILIDAS  takes  them.) 

ARCH. 

What,  thou  knave! 

At  such  a  moment?— Business  to-morrow!     Hence 
All  thought  o'  th'  state,— of  all  but  mirth  and  pleasure! 


288    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

(The  Soldier  retires.  The  great  door  is  thrown  open; 
and  enter, — to  music — in  their  cloaks  and  garlands, 
PELOPIDAS  and  the  other  Exiles,  followed  by  MELON 
and  CHARON,  who  secure  the  door.  The  Guests  start  up 
and  clap  their  hands.  ARCHIAS  descends  from  his  seat, 
and  advances  to  meet  them.) 

Welcome,  most  welcome — Hah !  what  guests  are  these ! 

(The  Exiles  throw    off  their   cloaks,   and  draw  their 

swords.) 

PELOP. 

Guests   that   ye   looked   not   for.      Down   with   the 

tyrants! 
Down  with  their  myrmidons! 

(He  attacks  ARCHIAS  ;  the  others  engage  the  Guests.) 

ARCH. 

A  conspiracy! 
Bring  in  the  guards — What  ho ! — Defend  me,  Heaven ! 

PELOP. 

Thou  call'st  in  vain:  the  gods  are  deaf  to  tyrants! 
(He  kills  ARCHIAS  ;  the  Guests  are  driven  out.) 
Die  with  thy  minions! — Take  them  forth,  and  slay 

them. 

Where  is  Leontidas?     My  steel  is  thirsty, 
But  scorns  the  blood  of  bondmen.     Where  is  he, 
The  master  tyrant? — Melon,  see  thou  finish 
The  work  here.     When  'tis  done,  set  after  me 
To  mine  own  house.     There  is  no  true  blow  struck, 
Till  struck  i'  th'  bosom  of  Leontidas! 

(Exeunt.) 


PELOPIDAS  289 

SCENE  IV.  The  prison-room  in  PELOPIDAS'S 
house.  (Enter  LEONTIDAS,  with  several  Soldiers  of  the 
Guard,  one  of  them  leading  HYLAS.) 

LEON. 

If  he  be  'scaped — Yet,  no!  how  could  that  be, 

Safe  guarded  thus? — (^4  shout  is  heard.) — Hark!  how 

th'  insurgent  reptiles 

Roar  through  the  streets! — Bring  forth  the  prisoner, 
The  hind— 
(Enter,  from  the  vault,  SIBYLLA;  HYLAS  runs  to  her.) 

Sibylla  here!     Now  by  Ixion, 
And  his  infernal  torment,  this  affrights  me.— 
Why  art  thou  here? — Bring  forth  the  prisoner. 

SIB. 

Speak'st  thou  of  Hippoclus? 

LEON. 

Of  a  nobler  captive. — 

Thou  bear'st  it  well !     But  now  no  more  dissembling — 
I  seek  Pelopidas! — Dost  thou  hear  me,  villain? 
The  prisoner! 

SIB. 

He  is  beyond  thy  reach. 
Seek  in  the  vault  for  none  but  Hippoclus; 
For  none  but  he  remains. 

LEON. 

Escaped ! 

SOLD. 

Tistrue: 
I  feared  to  tell  your  highness. 

19 


290    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

LEON. 

Now  may  fire 
Fall  on  the  hand  that  freed  him! 


'Twas  7  that  freed  him. 


SIB. 

Why,  on  mine  then : 

LEON. 

Thou? 


SIB. 

I,  Polemarch! 

'Twas  I  that  oped  his  prison  door,  and  gave  him 
The  blade  that  won  his  freedom;  I,  even  I, 
(The  wretch  thou  thought 'st  fit  only  for  dishonour,) 
That  sent  him  forth  to  do  the  like  for  Thebes,— 
To  break  her  bonds,  to  arm  her  hands,  to  trample 
Her  thrones  and  tyrants,  till  she  is  free  as  air, — 
As  free  as  he  is ! 

LEON. 

Thou  wert  a  wife  for  Mars ! 
But  triumph  not  too  early.     (To  Soldier.}     Rank  the 

guards, 

Straight,  at  the  portal;  and  be  ready  all 
To  march  to  th'  Citadel.     (Exit  Soldier.) — I  make  thee 

now 

The  last  of  love's  persuasive  invitations. 
All  is  not  won,  nor  is  all  lost;  for,  with 
A  Spartan  garrison  in  the  Citadel, 
And  Sparta's  self  behind,  you  soon  shall  see  me 
Master  again  of  Thebes;  her  riotous  people 


PELOPIDAS  291 

Chained  in  securer  bondage;  and  their  chiefs 
Again  in  exile.    Think'st  them,  thyself  I'll  yield? 
Thou  must  go  with  me  to  the  Citadel. 

SIB. 

Never,  vain  prince — Think  not  I  fear  thee  now, 
Pelopidas  hard  by  me!    Save  thyself. — (Another  shout 

heard.} 

Hear'st  thou  those  cries, — the  uproar  of  a  nation 
Mad  for  the  blood  of  its  oppressors?    Hence! 
I  scorn  and  hate,  but  would  not  see  thee  slaughtered. 

LEON. 

Prattle  these  sarcasms  in  the  Citadel — 
There  is  no  time  for  trifling.    What !    I  ask  thee, 
Wilt  thou  go  peacefully;  or  have  my  slaves, 
With  base,  defiling  clutches,  drag  thee  thither  ? 

SIB. 

I  fear  them  not,  nor  thee.    (She  draws  a  dagger.}     The 

hand  that  aided 
Pelopidas,  can  help  Sibylla  too! 

LEON. 

The  day  of  Amazons  is  past.     (He  seizes  and  disarms 

her.}— What  ho! 
Take  the  boy  from  her. 

(A  soldier  seizes  HYLAS.) 

SIB.  (To  the  Soldier.} 

Caitiff!  wilt  thou  harm  him? 


292    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

LEON. 

Take  him  along. 

SIB. 

Why  take  him,  then — And  see 
Thou  weep  not,  sirrah, — not  a  tear,  I  bid  thee, — 
Not  one,  not  one. — But  still  thou  tak'st  not  me! 

LEON. 

Art  thou  so  heartless  to  desert  thy  child? 

SIB. 
Art  thou  so  base  to  steal  him? 

LEON. 

'Tis  to  make  thee 
Follow  the  path  he  treads. 

SIB. 

I  would  not  follow 

Where  thou  shouldst  lead  him ;  though  his  tender  arms 
Were  knit  among  my  heartstrings. — 
(A  -louder  shout  heard.    SIBYLLA  breaks  from  LEONTIDAS 
and  clings  to  a  pillar.) 

Here  I  hold  me, 
Till  my  arms  are  hacked  off. 

(Another  shout) 

LEON. 

By  heaven,  the  knaves 
Will  be  upon  us!     (He  snatches  up  the  boy.)     What! 

thou  driv'st  me  mad, 
And  kill'st  thy  child — Come  with  me,  or  I  slay  himl 


PELOPIDAS  293 

SIB. 

Monster !  thou  wouldst  not  hurt  him  ? 

LEON. 

Come  with  me; 

Or  (by  the  gods,  you  know  not  how  you  stir  me!) 
I'll  from  the  window  hurl  him — 

SIB. 

Ah! 

LEON. 

To  perish 
Upon  the  lances  of  the  guard. 

SIB. 

Oh,  man! — 

No,  no,  not  man;  but  fiend!  most  savage  demon! — 
Cast  him  forth,  if  thou  wilt,  upon  the  spears 
Of  thy  base  followers;  or  break  and  mangle 
His  innocent  limbs  upon  the  flinty  stones, 
(Stones  not  so  flinty  as  thy  cruel  heart;) 
Dash  out  his  brains  before  my  eyes;  thy  dagger 
Strike  through  his  neck  and  spot  me  with  his  blood ; 
Do  this, — do  all :  thou  canst  not  move  me  yet 
One  step  more  near  dishonour. 


He  dies  then ! 


LEON. 

By  Acheron, 


SIB. 

Spare  him !    Oh,  thyself  may 'st  soon 
Crave  the  same  mercy  thou  deny'st  my  boy. 
Spare  him,  Leontidas,  and  thou  shalt  be  spared. 


294   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

LEON. 

Come  with  me. 

SIB. 

Never! 

(LEONTIDAS  offers  to  cast  the  boy  from  the  window.) 

Oh,  ye  great  gods,  give  me 

Such  strength  as  wild  wolves  ye  have  armed  withal. 
Hold,  murderer,  hold! 

(She   rushes   against  LEONTIDAS:  a  Soldier  seizes  her. 
Another  Shout.) 

LEON. 

Out,  viper's  egg! 

SIB. 

Ah!— ah! 

(She  falls  into  a  swoon:  LEONTIDAS  is  about  to  throw 
the  boy  from  the  window:  a  great  shout  is  heard:  and 
enter  PELOPIDAS,  who  snatches  the  boy  from  LEONTIDAS, 
and  strikes  the  latter  down .  The  Soldiers  fly . ) 

PELOP. 

What!  kill  the  child?  and  not  bethink  thee  how 

The  gods  rain  thunderbolts!     Die,  wretch!     I  strike 
thee 

First  for  my  bleeding  country:  (Stabs  him.)  'tis  ap 
peased  ! 

I  strike  now  for  Pelopidas! 

(Kills  him.) 
(Enter  DAMOCLIDES,  PHILIDAS,  CHARON,  and  Exiles; 

and  one  from  the  vault,  leading  HIPPOCLUS.     PELOPIDAS 

raises  SIBYLLA  and  gives  her  the  boy.) 


PELOPIDAS  295 

Sibylla! 
My  dear  boy,  all  unharmed! — Hail,  friends!      Thus 

falls 
Another  of  your  tyrants ! 

CHAR. 

Hail  thou!  all  hail 
Pelopidas,  our  great  Deliverer! 

(Enter  MELON.) 

MEL. 

Shout  Victory  all,  and  triumph, — Thebes  is  free! 

Fired  by  the  name  they  love, — Pelopidas, — 

The  citizens  have  stormed  the  Citadel, 

And  put  the  garrison  to  the  sword;  and  with  it, 

Philip  the  Polemarch;  and  Laon  too, 

The  traitor  fugitive. 

PELOP. 

'Twas  noble!— Father, 
Have  I  not  now  redeemed  mine  honour? 

(He  kneels  to  HIPPOCLUS,  who  blesses  him.) 

HIPP. 

The  gods 
Preserve  you  long  Bceotia's  champion. 

PHIL. 

'Tis  triumph  all!    The  exiles,  in  reserve 

Upon  the  Hill  of  Fortune,  marching  on, 

The  townsmen  aiding,  have  the  gates  o'ermastered; 

And  all  is  ours.    There's  not  a  Spartan  now 

Living  in  Thebes. 


296   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PELOP. 

Our  liberty's  accomplished! 
Now  let  the  world,  that  once  derided,  wonder; 
Tyrants  that  scowl  afar,  look  on  and  fear; 
And  the  galled  victims  of  their  tyranny, — 
The  poor  base  fools  that  clank  their  chains  and  smile, 
Thinking  the  sound  is  music, — those  who  press  them 
Upon  their  breasts,  and  still  have  grace  to  groan; 
Let  them  look  on,  leap  up,  and  imitate; 
Let  them  look  on  us,  till  the  serpent's  teeth 
(Like  those  i'  th'  earth  sown  by  our  Ancestor,) 
Root  in  their  bosoms,  and  bring  forth  armed  men, 
Striking  for  vengeance  and  for  Liberty! 
(Tableau  and  Curtain.) 

END  OF  ACT  V. 


THE  GLADIATOR 

The  following  text  of  The  Gladiator  is  based  on 
the  best  and  fullest  autograph  manuscript  among 
the  Bird  papers  in  the  Library  of  the  University  of 
Pennsylvania.  The  collection  contains  two  other 
manuscripts  of  the  play,  a  complete  rough  draft  in 
the  author's  hand,  and  a  careful  copy  of  the  final 
draft  in  the  handwriting  of  his  wife.  It  seems  that 
the  MS.  used  for  this  text  was  submitted  to  Edwin 
Forrest,  for  whom  it  was  written  as  a  prize  play, 
who  suggested  cuts  and  changes  for  the  acting 
version.  These  alterations,  marked  with  a  pencil 
in  the  original,  are  enclosed  in  brackets  of  this 
form  <  >.  Such  changes  in  wording  as  apparently 
met  with  the  author's  approval  have  been  followed 
for  the  most  part  without  comment. 

The  Gladiator  was  completed  in  April,  1831, 
Bird's  second  prize  play  accepted  by  Forrest.  It 
was  first  produced  at  the  Park  Theater,  New  York, 
September  26,  1831,  and  became  at  once  one  of 
the  most  successful  plays  on  the  American  stage. 
After  Forrest's  death  it  was  given  by  John  McCul- 
lough,  Robert  Downing,  and  others  with  every 
mark  of  favor. 


297 


THE  GLADIATOR 

A  TRAGEDY 

IN  FIVE  ACTS 

PHILADELPHIA,  APRIL,  183! 


299 


THE  GLADIATOR 
PERSONS  REPRESENTED 

MARCUS  LICINIUS  CRASSUS,  a  Roman  Prator. 

Lucius  GELLIUS,  a  Consul. 

SCROPHA,  a  QucBstor. 

Jovius,  a  Centurion. 

MUMMIUS,  lieutenant  to  CRASSUS. 

BATIATUS  LENTULUS,  a  Capuan  Lanista,  or  master  of 

gladiators. 

BRACCHIUS,  a  Roman  Lanista. 
FLORUS,  son  of  B.  LENTULUS. 
SPARTACUS,  a  Thracian, 
PHASARIUS,  his  brother, 


,  a  Gaul, 


Gladiators. 


CRIXUS,  a  German, 

and  others, 

A  boy,  son  of  SPARTACUS. 
JULIA,  niece  of  CRASSUS. 
SENONA,  wife  of  SPARTACUS. 
Citizens,  soldiers,  etc. 

SCENE.     Rome,  and  parts  of  Italy.     Time,  B.C.  73. 


300 


THE  GLADIATOR 
ACT  I 

SCENE  I.  Rome.  The  Street  before  BRACCHIUS'S 
house.  Enter  PHASARIUS,  ^NOMAIIS,  and  other  gladi 
ators. 

PHASARIUS. 

There  never  was  a  properer  moment.  I  look  around 
me  on  the  Roman  flocks,  that  are  deserted  by  their 
watchdogs  and  shepherds,  and  my  ringers  itch  to 
be  at  their  throats.  Rome  has  sent  forth  her 
generals  to  conquer  the  world,  and  left  nothing 
but  her  name  for  the  protection  of  her  citizens. 
Where  now  is  that  warlike,  arrogant,  and  envious 
coxcomb,  Pompey?  Quarrelling,  —  he  and  that 
old  brawler,  Metellus,  —  in  Spain,  with  the  rebel, 
Sertorius:  Lucullus,  the  Spoiler?  Chasing  the 
braggart,  Mithridates,  over  his  Pontic  mountains: 
and  Marcus,  his  brother?  Killing  the  rest  of  my 
countrymen,  the  furies  speed  him!  That  restless 
boy,  young  Caesar?  Among  the  islands,  crucify 
ing  the  pirates.  Marius  dead,  Sylla  rotting.  — 
There  is  not  a  man  in  Rome,  that  Rome  could  now 
look  to  for  service. 


The  praetor,  Crassus. 

301 


302    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PHAS. 

The  miserable  rich  man,  the  patrician  monger,  that, 
by  traffic  in  human  flesh,  has  turned  a  patrimony 
of  an  hundred  talents  into  an  hundred  thousand ! 
If  there  be  any  virtue  in  the  love  of  wealth, 
then  is  the  praetor  a  most  virtuous  man;  for  he 
loves  it  better  than  he  loves  the  gods.  And  if  he 
be  great  and  magnanimous,  who  coins  his  gold 
from  the  sinews  of  his  bondsmen,  set  me  down 
Crassus  as  the  beloved  of  all  greatness.  'Sblood, 
brother  sworder,  what  were  such  a  counter  of 
silver  in  the  iron  wars?  Get  me  up  a  rebellion, 
and  you  shall  see  this  great  man  brained  by  the 
least  of  his  merchandise. 

.ENO. 

Well,  I  should  like  to  be  at  the  killing  of  some  dozen 
such  tyrants. 

PHAS. 

Why  should  you  not  ?     Some  thousands  like  ourselves, 
Most  scurvy  fellows,  that  have  been  trained,  like  dogs, 
To  tear  each  other  for  their  masters'  pleasure, 
Shed  blood,  cut  throats,  and  do  such  mortal  mischiefs 
As  men  love  best  to  work  upon  their  foes, — 
Of  these  there  are  some  thousands  in  this  realm, 
Have  the  same  wish  with  us,  to  turn  their  swords 
Upon  their  masters.     And,  'tis  natural, 
That  wish,  and  reasonable,  very  reasonable. 
I  am  tired  of  slaying  bondmen  like  myself, 
I  am  sick  of  it.     That  day  the  Roman  knight, 
To  win  the  smile  of  the  rich  quaestor's  daughter, 
In  the  arena  sprung,  and  volunteered 


THE  GLADIATOR  303 

To  kill  a  gladiator,  and  did  find 
His  liver  spitted,  like  a  thing  of  naught, 
Upon  my  weapon,  —  since  that  day  I  tasted 
Of  Roman  blood,  I  have  had  no  desire 
To  kill  poor  slaves  —  I've  longed  for  naught  but  Ro 
mans! 


Well,  we  can  die,  and  kill  some,  ere  we  die. 

PHAS. 

Ay,  marry,  some  dozens  ; 

And  should  those  wretches  be  but  moved  to  join  us, 

We  might,  for  dozens,  count  us  glorious  thousands. 

.ENO. 

Well,  we  are  all  agreed  to  this.    We  are  thirty.    But  how 
Shall  we  get  weapons? 

PHAS. 

Set  our  dens  afire, 
And  force  the  armoury. 

/ENO. 

Our  master,  Bracchius, 
Has  a  sharp  watch  to  that. 

PHAS. 

In  half  an  hour, 

We  are  at  our  morning's  practice.    Now,  thou  knowest, 
To  keep  me  in  good  heart,  he  humours  me 
Most  fulsomely.     I  have  won  him  some  great  wagers, 
So  I  am  worth  his  fooling.     I  will  urge  him, 
For  this  day's  play,  instead  of  laths,  to  give  us 


304   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

True  brands,  for  keener  practice,  that  we  may 
Show  nobler  for  him  at  the  praetor's  games. 


<He  knows,  indeed,  'tis  needful  we  have  ready, 
For  these  same  games,  the  best  of  skill  :  >  I've  heard 
That  Lentulus  the  Capuan  brings  a  troop 
Of  excellent  swordsmen  on  that  day. 

PHAS. 

What,  excellent? 
Did  I  not  beat  his  boaster?  —  Excellent? 


'Tis  rumoured  so. 


PHAS. 


By  Jove,  we  will  put  off 
This  thing  a  day  !     I  have  seen  no  excellence 
In  weapons  for  a  month. 

.ENO. 

Why  need  you  see  it  ? 

PHAS. 

Nay,  if  he  have  a  man  to  meet  a  man, 
I  must  be  in  the  arena  :     No  desertion, 
When  there's  a  peril  to  be  dared  and  ended  ! 
Faith,  I  will  have  a  bout,  if  it  but  be 
To  make  Rome  talk.     You  shall  see,  ^Enomaiis, 
If  he  be  matched  with  me  in  the  Thracian  combat, 
How  I  will  use  that  trick  my  brother  taught  me, 
When  first  I  flashed  a  weapon. 


THE  GLADIATOR  305 


I  doubt  not, 
You  will  maintain  your  reputation. 

PHAS. 

Faith, 

I'll  hear  once  more  this  Roman  acclamation, 
Ere  it  be  changed  to  curses. 


See  !    Our  master  — 

PHAS. 


Well,  get  you  gone. 


Forget  not  for  the  weapons. 

PHAS. 

Ay,  ay  —  after  the  shows. 

(Ex[i]t.     ^ENOMAIIS  and  the  Gladiators.     Enter 
BRACCHIUS.) 

BRAC. 

How  now,  Phasarius;  what  did  these  cutthroats  here? 


Idling,  Sirrah? 


PHAS. 


No;  they  were  moralizing  over  their  scars,  and  asking 
what  they  had  got  by  'em. 

BRAC; 

Do  the  rogues  think  themselves  soldiers,  that  their 
cuts  should  be  worth  anything  but  showing? 

20 


306   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


PHAS. 

No.  But  some  of  them  hope  to  be  made  freedmen  one 
day,  when  they  are  no  longer  fit  for  the  arena. 

BRAC. 

Fellow,  thou  knowest  I  love  thee,  and  will  enfranchise 
thee. 

PHAS. 

Yes, — when  my  eye  is  dimmed,  my  arm  stiffened,  my 
heart  chilled,  my  head  gray :  I  look  for  redemption 
no  sooner.  I  am  a  lusty,  serviceable  rogue  yet: 
Why  should  you  free  me  now? 

BRAC. 

Sirrah,  are  you  insolent?  I  will  have  the  centupon- 
dium  to  your  heels,  and  the  lash  to  your  shoulders. 

PHAS. 

Which  will  make  me  fight  the  better  at  the  praetor's 
games,  hah !  Which  of  us  is  the  lunatic  ? 

BRAC. 

What,  you  knave ! 

PHAS. 

Thou  art  my  master;  but  I  know,  thou  wouldst  as 
soon  set  me  free,  as  scourge  me.  Both  would 
destroy  thy  subsistence,  and  one  thy  life;  in 
either  case,  I  would  fight  no  more.  And  if  thou 
wert  to  touch  me  lawfully  with  the  thong,  thou 
knowest,  I  would  unlawfully  murder  thee. 


THE  GLADIATOR  307 

BRAC. 


You  shall  be  crucified ! 


PHAS. 


Then  shall  the  crows  pick  forty  thousand  crowns  from 
my  bones;  for  so  much  are  these  muscles  worth. 

BRAC. 

Out  upon  you,  villain !  It  is  my  favour  has  made  thee 
so  insolent. 

PHAS. 

It  is  my  knowledge  of  my  own  price,  and  not  thy 
favour,  which  is  more  perilous  than  thine  anger. 
Pr'ythee,  threaten  me  no  more;  or  I  shall  grow 
peaceable,  and  spoil  thy  fortune. 

BRAC. 

You  have  sworn  never  to  decline  the  combat. 

PHAS. 

Ay;  so  I  have.  But  I  have  found  no  one  regards  a 
slave's  oath;  and  why  now  should  the  slave?  It 
is  my  humour,  and  not  my  oath,  makes  me  a 
shedder  of  blood.  But  the  humour  may  change. 

BRAC. 

Well,  thou  art  a  most  impudent  talker;  it  is  eternal 
Saturnalia  with  thee.  But  I  forgive  thee,  and 
will  do  thee  more  kindness  than  I  have  done 
already. 


308   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PHAS. 

Which  is  to  say,  you  have  some  new  jeopardy  to  put 
my  neck  in.  You  have  some  gladiator  of  fame 
you  would  have  me  fight,  is  it  not? 

BRAC. 

Ay,  if  rumour  be  worth  the  noting.  Crassus  has  hired 
the  gladiators  from  Capua;  and,  'tis  said,  Lentu- 
lus  will  bring  with  them  a  man  that  will  cut  the 
coxcomb  from  thy  pate,  and  utterly  annihilate 
thee. 

PHAS. 
They  say  so?    Annihilate  me! 

BRAC. 

Faith,  'tis  so  reckoned,  and  strong  wagers  are  making 
against  you. 

PHAS. 

Hah?  Against  me?  Annihilate  me!  If  he  have  a 
head  of  adamant  and  a  breast  of  brass,  he  may  do 
it;  but  if  his  scull  be  common  bone,  and  his  skin 
no  thicker  than  bullhide — Mehercle!  let  me  see 
this  Cyclops. 

BRAC. 

Now,  by  Jupiter,  I  love  thy  spirit. 

PHAS. 

Has  he  no  name?  No  country?  No  voucher  of 
triumphs?  Marry,  for  a  mushroom,  a  thing  that 
was  yesterday  unknown,  his  credit  is  a  jot  too 


THE  GLADIATOR  309 

arrogant;  and,  as  I  am  a  Thracian,  and  feel  the 
blood  of  the  warlike  god,  the  father  of  Thrace, 
still  tingle  in  my  fingers,  I  will  make  my  iron 
acquainted  with  his  ribs. — Out  upon  him, — 
Annihilate  me! 

BRAC. 

Come,  thou  art  his  better;  but  he  is  noted  enough  to 
make  thy  triumph  the  more  glorious.  Put  thy 
self  in  the  meanwhile  to  practice.  But  who  comes 
here?  What,  Lentulus  of  Capua? 

(Enter  LENTULUS.) 

By  mine  honesty,  I  am  glad  to  see  thee.  Bringest 
thou  any  new  cutthroats?  What  man,  here  is 
my  Mars  of  gladiators,  my  most  unmatched  and 
unmatchable,  Phasarius  the  Thracian.  Look  how 
lusty  the  knave  looks!  Hast  anything  fit  to  be 
slashed  by  such  a  fellow  ? 

LENT. 

Nay,  I  know  not.  'Tis  a  most  gallant  villain.  <  Slew 
he  not  six  at  the  shows  given  by  Gellius  the 
consul? 

BRAC. 

Yes,  by  Mars;  and  would  have  made  eel's  meat  of  the 
seventh,  but  that  the  people  grew  pitiful  and 
pointed  their  thumbs. — T  could  have  cuffed  'em, 
senators  and  all. — He  had  him  on  his  hip,  his 
body  bent  round  him  thus,  his  fist  to  his  poll, 
his  dagger  to  his  throat.  By  Mars,  'twas  the 
noblest  sight  I  had  seen  for  a  month:  and  yet 


310   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

when  he  looked  to  them  for  the  doom,  the  pitiful 
things  cried  Nay. — I  could  have  cuffed  'em!> 

LENT. 

But  is  he  thy  best  man  ? 

BRAC. 

The  best  in  Rome.  I  have  a  Gaul  too;  but  he  is  not 
his  equal.  I  would  thou  hadst  a  match  for  either. 
Crassus  will  pay:  the  best  gladiator  in  the  land 
were  no  loss,  if  killed  in  his  service. 

LENT. 

I  have  brought  some  indifferent  good  fellows:  and 
one  of  them,  I  think,  I  would  wager  against  your 
unmatchable. 

BRAC. 

Hearest  thou  that,  Phasarius?     Get  in  and  practice. 

(Exit   PHASARIUS.) 

LENT. 

But  he  will  not  take  the  gladiator's  oaths. 

BRAC. 

What,  is  he  slave  or  felon? 

LENT. 

A  slave  that  I  bought  of  the  quaestor  just  returned 
from  the  army  of  Thrace;  a  shepherd,  I  think, 
they  told  me,  and  leader  of  a  horde  of  his  savage 
countrymen.  I  bought  him  on  the  faith  of  the 
fame  he  brought  with  him,  of  being  the  most 
desperate,  unconquerable,  and,  indeed,  skilful 


THE  GLADIATOR  31 1 

barbarian  in  the  province.  <Thou  hast  not  for 
got  Caius  Clypeus,  the  centurion,  that  fought  in 
the  shows  at  the  funeral  of  Sylla  ? 

BRAC. 

He  was  accounted  on  that  day  the  second  swordsman 
in  Rome. 

LENT. 

His  bones,  with  those  of  two  of  his  followers,  are 
rotting  on  the  banks  of  the  Strymon.  The  three 
attacked  the  valiant  savage,  my  bondman;  and 
by  Jupiter,  without  other  help  than  fortune  and 
extraordinary  prowess,  he  slew  them  all. 

BRAC. 

Hercules!  he  has  magic  weapons !>  But  how  was 
he  taken  ? 

LENT. 

Betrayed  by  his  follower,  while  he  slept;  and  yet  he 
had  vengeance  on  his  betrayer,  for  he  dashed  his 
brains  out  upon  a  rock. 

BRAC. 

Excellent!  Dash  his  brains  out!  He  is  a  Titan.  I 
would  have  given  a  dozen  common  slaves  to  have 
seen  him  do  that  thing! 

LENT. 

But  he  will  not  swear. 

BRAC. 

Come,  thou  knowest  not  the  nature  of  these  fellows. 
Didst  thou  speak  him  kindly? 


312   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

LENT. 

Ay:  but  I  had  better  have  talked  softly  to  a  hyena: 
he  did  but  scowl  at  me.  Faith,  he  will  sit  yon 
by  the  day,  looking  at  his  chains,  or  the  wall;  and 
if  one  has  a  word  from  him,  it  is  commonly  a 
question,  How  many  leagues  he  is  away  from 
Thrace. 

BRAC. 
Didst  thou  tell  him  of  the  honours  of  a  gladiator? 

LENT. 

Ay;  and  he  asked  if  cutting  throats  was  the  most 
honourable  occupation  in  Rome? 

BRAC.        . 

By  Mars,  thou  shouldst  have  scourged  him. 

LENT. 

I  did. 

BRAC. 

And  how  wrought  it? 

LENT. 

I  think  the  knave  had  killed  me,  when  I  struck  him, — ay, 
even  with  his  manacled  fist, — but  that  he  was 
felled  by  the  staff  of  my  freedman.  I  should 
have  hanged  him,  but  was  loath  to  lose  so  bold 
a  varlet.  Wherefore  I  had  him  scourged  again, 
and  faith  he  took  it  as  passively  as  a  stone.  But 
it  will  not  make  him  swear. 

BRAC. 

Didst  thou  vow  to  the  gods  to  hang  him  up  like  a  dog, 
if  he  were  so  obstinate? 


THE  GLADIATOR  313 

LENT. 

I  had  a  halter  put  to  his  neck;  but  then  he  laughed, 
and  thanked  his  barbarous  gods  for  such  indul 
gence. 

BRAC. 

Nay,  this  is  a  madman. 

LENT. 

I  had  the  fetters  taken  from  his  arm,  and  sent  one  to 
attack  him  with  a  weapon.  But  although  I  laid 
a  sword  by  him,  he  would  not  use  it ;  yet  he  struck 
the  assailant  with  his  fist,  and  felled  him  as  one 
would  a  wall  with  a  battering  ram.  But  then 
he  was  angry.  Another  time,  he  sat  still,  and 
let  the  slave  wound  him,  unresisting. 

BRAC. 

Moody  caitiff!  Thou  hadst  better  drown  him. — Look 
thou — Mine  eyes  are  dim — I  have  bought  a  troop 
of  women  and  children — Thracians  too — and  I 
think  those  be  they  coming  yonder. 

LENT. 

Thou  art  mistaken.  Those  are  mine  own  cutthroats, 
and  the  wild  Thracian  among  them. 

BRAC. 

Why  didst  thou  bring  him  to  Rome? 

LENT. 

In  a  last  hope  to  urge  him  to  the  oath.  Look,  is  he 
not  a  most  warlike  and  promising  fellow? 

(Enter  SPARTACUS,  chained,  and  FLORUS  with  the  CA- 
PUAN  Gladiators.) 


314    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

BRAC. 

A  Hercules,  a  Mars!      What,  thou  rogue,  why  dost 
thou  droop  thus?     Why  art  thou  so  sullen  and 
obstinate?     No  words?     What,  canst  thou  not 
speak? — Fetch   me   a   scourge   hither — I'll   find 
thee  a  tongue. 

LENT. 
Come,  sirrah,  look  up,  speak,  show  thyself. 

SPART. 

Is  it  a  thousand  leagues  away  to  Thrace  ? 

LENT. 

What,  thou  fool,   wilt  thou  always   be  harping  on 

Thrace? 
'Tis  so  far  away,  thou  wilt  never  see  it  more. 

SPART. 
Never. 

LENT. 

Why  I  say,  never.     Why  wilt  thou  be  so  mad  as  to 
think  of  it? 

SPART. 

Have  Romans  fathers,  and  wives,  and  children? 

BRAC. 

Truly !     Thou  art  a  Thracian ;  what  is  thy  name  ? 

SPART. 

Misery. 


Thouseest! 


THE  GLADIATOR  315 

LENT. 
BRAC. 


Faith,  thou  hast  scourged  him  too  much;  thou  hast 
broke  his  heart.  Come,  sirrah,  dost  thou  love 
thy  country? 

y 

SPART. 

I  have  none, — I  am  a  slave.  I  was  bought;  I  say, 
I  was  bought.  Do  you  doubt  it?  That  man 
scourges  me ;  thou  didst  threaten  me  with  stripes ; 
every  Roman  I  look  upon,  speaks  to  me  of  scourg 
ing.  Nay  they  may:  I  was  bought. 

LENT. 

Thou  seest,  Bracchius!  This  is  the  manner  of  his 
obstinacy. 

BRAC. 

Nay,  I  see  more  than  thou  thinkest.  I  can  move  him 
yet. — Observe  him. — He  mutters  to  himself. 

SPART. 
Is  not  this  Rome?     The  great  city? 

BRAC. 

Ay;  and  thou  shouldst  thank  the  gods  they  have 
suffered  thee  to  see  it,  before  thou  diest. — 

SPART. 

I  heard  of  it,  when  I  was  a  boy  among  the  hills,  piping 
to  my  father's  flocks.  They  said,  that  spoke  of  it, 


316   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

it  was  the  queen  of  cities,  the  metropolis  of  the 
world.  My  heart  grew  big  within  me,  to  hear  of 
its  greatness.  I  thought  those  men  who  could 
make  it  so,  were  greater  than  men ;  they  were  gods. 

LENT. 
And  are  they  not,  sirrah? — 

SPART. 

How  many  palaces,  that  look  like  the  habitations  of 
divinities,  are  here  about  me !  Here  are  marble 
mountains,  that  have  been  hewn  down  and 
shaped  anew,  for  men  to  dwell  among.  Gold, 
and  silver,  and  purple,  and  a  million  of  men 
thronging  the  pillared  hills! 

BRAC. 

And  what  thinkest  thou,  now  thou  hast  seen  it  ? 

SPART. 

That, — if  Romans  had  not  been  fiends,  Rome  had 
never  been  great !  Whence  came  this  greatness, 
but  from  the  miseries  of  subjugated  nations? 
How  many  myriads  of  happy  people — people  that 
had  not  wronged  Rome,  for  they  knew  not  Rome 
— how  many  myriads  of  these  were  slain  like  the 
beasts  of  the  field,  that  Rome  might  fatten  upon 
their  blood,  and  become  great?  Look  ye,  Ro 
man, — there  is  not  a  palace  upon  these  hills  that 
cost  not  the  lives  of  a  thousand  innocent  men; 
there  is  no  deed  of  greatness  ye  can  boast,  but 
it  was  achieved  upon  the  ruin  of  a  nation ;  there 
is  no  joy  ye  can  feel,  but  its  ingredients  are  blood 
and  tears. 


THE  GLADIATOR  317 

LENT. 

Now  marry,  villain,  thou  wert  bought  not  to  prate, 
but  to  fight. 

SPART. 

I  will  not  fight.  I  will  contend  with  mine  enemy, 
when  there  is  strife  between  us;  and  if  that  enemy 
be  one  of  these  same  fiends,  a  Roman,  I  will 
give  him  advantage  of  weapon  and  place;  he 
shall  take  a  helmet  and  buckler;  while  I,  with  my 
head  bare,  my  breast  naked,  and  nothing  in  my 
hand  but  my  shepherd's  staff,  will  beat  him  to 
my  feet  and  slay  him.  But  I  will  not  slay  a  man 
for  the  diversion  of  Romans. 

BRAC. 

Thou  canst  boast,  barbarian!  If  thou  canst  do  this, 
what  brought  thee  to  Rome,  a  captive? 

SPART. 

Treachery!  I  was  friendless,  sick,  famished.  My 
enemies  came  in  numbers.  They  were  like  the 
rats  of  Egypt,  that  will  not  come  near  the  croco 
dile  while  he  is  awake :  they  attacked  me  sleeping. 
Had  they  found  me  with  a  weapon  in  my  hands, 
Gods!  I  had  not  now  been  a  thing  for  Romans 
to  scourge. 

BRAC. 

Fellow,  I  love  thee.     What  is  thy  name? 

SPART. 
What  matters  it? 


318    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

BRAG. 

Wilt  thou  be  free? 

SPART. 


Free! 


BRAC. 


Take  the  oaths  of  a  gladiator,  and  kill  me  a  score  of 
lusty  fellows — 

SPART. 

A  score !  kill  a  score  of  men  ?  in  cold  blood  ?  and  for 
the  diversion  of  Rome's  rabble?     I  will  not. 

BRAC. 

By  Mars,  then  you  shall  be  sent  to  man  young  Caesar's 
galleys,  and  be  whipped  daily. 

LENT. 

Fight  me  half  a  score,  and,  by  Jupiter,  I  will  send  thee 
back  to  thy  wife. 

SPART. 

My  wife ! — The  last  thing  that  mine  eyes  looked  on, 
When  my  steps  turned  from  Thrace,  it  was  my  cottage 
A  hideous  ruin ;  the  Roman  fires  has  scorched  it : 
No  wife  sat  sobbing  by  the  wreck;  no  child 
Wept  on  the  sward ;  not  even  the  watchdog  howled : 
There  was  no  life  there. — Well,  why  should  I  talk? 
'Tis  better  they  are  perished. 


The  slave  is  reckless. — 


LENT. 

This  is  despair : 


THE  GLADIATOR  319 

SPART. 

O  ye  heavens !  that  sight 
Withered  my  heart;  I  was  a  man  no  more. 
I  had  been  happy  too! — Had  ye  spared  them, 
Then  spoke  of  freedom,  you  should  have  had  my  blood, 
For  beastly  ransome:  All  integrity 
And  pride  of  heart  I  would  have  sold  for  it. 

BRAC. 

Sirrah,  there  are  more  wives  in  Thrace. 

LENT. 

Lo  now! 

He'll  speak  no  more. — You,  Bracchius,  have  more  skill 
To  move  these  obstinates.     You  shall  buy  him  of  me. 

BRAC. 

And  hang  him!     Marry,  not  I.     He  is  a  madman. 
I  have  some  better  merchandise  here  now, 
Not  warlike,  but  as  gainful. 

(Enter  SENONA,  with  a  child,  and  other  slaves.) 

Thou  seest  these  creatures: 

Here  are  some  Thracians  too. — The  moody  villain ! 
He  should  be  hanged. — The  Thracian  women  are 
Most  excellent  spinners.     Buy  a  brace  of  them 
For  your  wife.     I  care  not  for  so  many. 

LENT. 

This  woman 
That  weeps  so,  she  with  the  brat, — is  she  a  Thracian? 

BRAC. 

Hark  ye,  mistress,  answer — are  you  of  Thrace? 

One  might  swear  it  by  her  silence;  for  these  savages 


320   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Are  always  obstinate  at  the  first.     You  like  her? 
Well,  out  of  my  friendship  now,  I'll  almost  give  her  to 

you. 
Three  thousand  drachmas — 

LENT. 

Three  thousand  furies! 

BRAC. 

Ay,  with  the  boy  too — 'Tis  a  lusty  imp. 

LENT. 

Three  thousand  sesterces;  and  that's  too  much. 

BRAC. 

Jove !  talk  of  sesterces  ?     This  cub  is  worth  it ! 

(BRAC.  handling  the  child  roughly.) 

SEND. 

Ah,  hurt  him  not. 

SPART. 

Hah! 

LENT. 

Three  thousand  sesterces. — 

SPART. 

Did  my  ears  mock  me? 

BRAC. 

Well  then  sesterces, 
For  the  woman  alone. 


THE  GLADIATOR  321 

SENO. 

You  will  not  part  us  ? 

SPART. 

Hah! 

Gods,  pity  me !  does  the  grave  give  back  the  dead  ? 
Senona! 

SENO. 

Hah!    Hah!     My  husband! 

BRAC. 

What's  the  matter? 

LENT. 
A  bargain — 

BRAC. 

What,  his  wife  ?    Six  thousand  drachmas. 
No  more  sesterces! — Caitiff,  is  this    thy  wife? — (To 
SPART.) 

SPART. 

And  my  miserable  boy  too, 
Exposed  in  the  street  to  sell! 


Six  thousand  drachmas. 


BRAC. 

By  Jove,  I  have  you. 


SPART. 

Why  didst  thou  not  die? — 

Villains,  do  you  put  them  up  for  sale,  like  beasts? 
Look  at  them :  they  are  human. 


322    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

LENT. 

Silence,  rogue.— 

SPART. 

I  will  not  silence.     I  will  ransome  them, 
What  way  you  will,  with  life  or  blood. — 

BRAC. 

By  Jove, 

I  will  not  sell  her.     Into  the  house,  get  in.— 
Take  her  along. 

SPART. 

You  shall  not — I  will  brain  that  man 
That  lays  his  hand  upon  her. 

BRAC. 

Kill  the  villain.— 

SPART. 

Man,  master! — See,  I  am  at  your  feet,  and  call  you, 
Of  mine  own  will,  My  Master  ! — I  will  serve  you 
Better  than  slave  e'er  served; — grant  me  this  prayer, 
And  hire  my  blood  out.     Buy — yes,  that's  the  word; 
It  does  not  choke  me — buy  her,  buy  the  boy; 
Keep  us  together — 

BRAC. 

Six  thousand  drachmas — 

SPART. 

I  will  earn  them, 
Though  they  were  doubled. 


THE  GLADIATOR  323 

LENT. 

Will  you  fight? 

SPART. 


And  die. 


LENT. 

Die!  Then  my  gold  is  lost. 


Buy  them,  buy  them. 


SPART. 

I  will  not  die.  — 

LENT. 

And  you  will  swear? 

SPART. 

I  will  — 


To  be  a  cutthroat  and  a  murderer,  — 
Whate'er  you  will,  —  so  you  will  buy  them. 

LENT. 

Unbind  him. 

BRAC. 

Six  thousand  — 

LENT. 

Three.     Remember,  Bracchius, 
If  you  prevent  his  fighting,  your  own  profit 
Suffers  as  well  as  mine. 

BRAC. 

Five  thousand  then. 


324    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

LENT. 

Nay,  pr'ythee,  four. 

BRAC. 

Well,  out  of  friendship, 
It  shall  be  four. — But,  faith,  my  Gaul  shall  kill  him. 

LENT. 

We  shall  see.     I'll  wager  even,  and  no  less 
Than  the  purchase  money. — 

SPART. 

Come  dry  your  tears,  Senona : 
We  are  slaves:    Why  should  slaves  weep? 

SENO. 

O,  dear  my  husband, 

Though  I  ne'er  thought  to  have  the  joy  to  meet  you 

Again,  in  this  dark  world,  I  scarce  feel  joy — 

I  think,  my  heart  is  burst. 

SPART. 

Come,  be  of  better  cheer: — 
Art  thou  not  now  amid  the  gorgeous  piles 
Of  the  potential  and  the  far-famed  Rome  ? 

SENO. 

But  Oh,  the  hills  of  our  own  native  land! 
The  brooks  and  forests — 


SPART. 

Ah!  no  more,  no  more: 


Think  of  them  not. — 


THE  GLADIATOR  325 


SENO. 


Where  we  fed  sheep,  and  laughed 
To  think  there  could  be  sorrow  in  the  world ; 
The  bright,  clear  rivers,  even  that  washed  the  walls 
Of  our  burned  cottage — 

SPART. 

No  more,  no  more,  no  more. 
Are  there  not  hills  and  brooks  in  Italy, 
Fairer  than  ours?     Content  you,  girl. 

SENO. 

Alas, 
This  boy  must  be  a  Roman,  and  a  slave. 

SPART. 

By  heaven,  he  shall  not !    Free  as  rock-hatched  eagles, 
Thy  boy  was  born,  and  so  shall  live  and  die! — 
We  wear  our  fetters  only  for  a  time — 
Romans  are  not  all  like  these  men.     We'll  see 
Our  home  yet.     We  are  slaves  but  for  a  time. — 
I  need  not  ask  thee  for  my  mother,  girl : 
I  know  this  thing  has  slain  her.     Her  heart  cracked, 
When  they  bore  off  my  brother. 

LENT. 

With  the  Gaul  then: 
And  if  he  beat  him,  as  I  think  he  will, 
Then  shall  he  battle  with  your  best. — Now,  sirrah. 

SPART. 

Hah! 


326   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SENO. 


Husband ! 


SPART. 


Well,  it  is  not  chains  alone 
That  make  the  slave.  What  will  my  master  have? 

LENT. 

I'll  have  thee  exercise  thine  arm  in  practice. 
Thou  wilt  have  brave  men  to  contend  with. 

SPART. 

Well, 
I  will  do  so :  but  speak  it  not  before  my  wife. 

LENT. 

Get  thee  along.     Florus,  conduct  them  to 
Their  lodgings.     See  this  Thracian  exercised. 

(Exeunt.} 

END   OF  ACT  I. 


ACT  II 

SCENE  I.    A   room  in  CRASSUS'S   house.     Enter 
CRASSUS,  Jovius,  an  Artificer,  and  a  Slave. 

CRASS  us 

To  the  full  letter  of  the  law.     What,  use 
My  excellent  slave  in  thy  most  gainful  craft, 
And  groan  at  the  reckoning?     By  Jupiter, 
Thou  shalt  his  hire  pay  to  the  utmost  sesterce, 
Or  have  a  quittance  writ  upon  thy  back. 
Breed  I  then  servants  for  the  good  of  knaves  ? 
Find  me  the  money,  or  I'll  have  thee  whipped. 
Begone.     (Exit  Artificer.)     I  built  not  up  my  for 
tunes  thus, 

By  taking  sighs  for  coin:  had  I  done  so, 
Foul  breath  had  ruined  me.     How  should  I  then 
Have  borne  the  hard  expenses  of  these  games, 
The  uproarious  voters  clamour  for  ? 

jov. 

What!    true. 

Wealth  is  the  key  to  office,  here  in  Rome, — 
Or  is  the  lock  that  best  secures  it. 

CRASS. 

Sirrah, 

Thou  dost  not  mean,  the  officers  bribe  the  people? 

327 


328    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

jov. 

I  had  sooner  lug  old  Cerberus  by  the  ears, 

Than  do  aught  to  our  citizens,  but  praise  'em. 

But,  in  your  gracious  ears, — our  sovereign  Romans 

Are  something  bauble-brained;  and,  like  to  children, 

Pass  qualmish  by  their  needful  medicines, 

To  snatch  at  sugary  playthings.     What  do  they 

In  their  elections?     Faith,  I  have  observed, 

They  ask  not  if  their  candidate  have  honour, 

Or  honesty,  or  proper  qualities ; 

But,  with  an  eager  grin,  What  is  his  wealth? 

If  thus  and  thus—  Then  he  can  give  us  shows 

And  feasts;  and  therefore  is  the  proper  man. 

An  excellent  mode  of  judging ! 

CRASS. 

Ancient  comrade, 
At  me  thou  point'st  now. 

jov. 

Not  irreverently: 

I  question  of  the  people;  and,  I  think, 
They  loved  great  Marius  more  for  his  rich  feasts, 
Than  his  rich  victories.     Sooth,  when  angry  Sylla 
Swept  them,  like  dogs,  out  of  his  bloody  path, 
And  made  their  hearts  sore,  they  forgot  their  fury, 
When  once  they  had  looked  upon  his  righting  lions. 

CRASS. 

Hence,  thou  inferrest,  they  have  chose  me  praetor, 
Being  rich  enough  to  purchase  them  diversions ! 
But  I  have  done  them  service  in  the  wars, 
And,  out  of  gratitude — But  no  more  of  that.— 
They  shall  be  pleased:  the  games  go  bravely  on. 


THE  GLADIATOR  329 

The  Capuan  hath  brought  me  a  new  sworder. — 
Sirrah,  go  bid  my  niece  here  (Exit  Slave.)     This  Cap 
uan  hath 
A  son  most  insolent  and  troublesome. 

(Enter  FLORUS) 

What,  Sirrah,  again?    Hast  thou  not  had  thy  answer? 
<Kill  me   these  flies   that   being  lean   themselves, 
Swarm  after  fatness.  >     Why  art  thou  this  fool, 
To  covet  my  rich  niece  ? 

FLOR. 

I  seek  not  riches. 

CRASS. 

Pah !  Will  poor  lovers  sing  eternally 
The  self -same  song  ?     They  seek  not  riches !    Jove, 
Why  pass  they  then  all  poverty,  where  their  choice 
Might  find  a  wider  compass  ? 

FLOR. 

Excellent  praetor, 
Give  me  the  maid,  and  keep  her  lands  thyself. 

CRASS. 

Sirrah,  thou  know'st,  the  girl  abhors  thee.      Look, 
She  has  the  blood  of  nobles  in  her  veins, 
Distilling  purely  through  a  thousand  years ; 
And  thine  comes  grossly  from  a  German  slave's, 
That  was  thy  grandsire. 

FLOR. 

Worth  and  deserving  toil  can  raise  me  up, 
Even  from  my  poverty,  to  wealth  and  honours. 
And  these  shall  do  it. 


330   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CRASS. 

Get  thee  away  then 

To  warring  Pompey,  and,  with  thy  soiled  sword, 
Carve  out  clean  honours;  not  forgetting,  whilst 
Thy    right    hand    grasps    the   enemy's    throat,     to 

thrust 

The  left  into  his  purse :     For  what  is  honour, 
With  empty  pockets,  in  this  thievish  world? 
Honour  is  men's  consideration :  men 
Consider  none,  but  those  can  profit  them. 
Therefore,  if  thou'lt  be  quick 
In  gaining  honour,  use  thy  right  hand  rather 
For  gathering  gold  than  killing — or  rather  use  them 

both: 
Make  much,  and  thou  shalt  be  most  honourable. 

jov. 

Thou  hearest,  Florus?     This  is  the  truer  wisdom. 

I've  fought  for  honour  some  good  thirty  years,— 

<  Courting    her    with    such    madman    freaks,     as 

leaping, 

First  man,  upon  an  arm'd  wall  in  the  storm; 
Saving  a  comrade's  life  (some  dozen  of  'em,) 
Out  of  the  jaws  of  death;  contesting  singly 
With  scores,  in  divers  places.  >     But  being  foolish, 
In  my  hot  haste  for  slaughter,  I  forgot 
To  look  for  spoil;  and  lo,  the  consequence! 
I  bear  the  vine-branch,1  and  am  only  honoured 
As  a  gray-haired  centurion. 

1  The  MS.  contains  the  folio  wing  note,  written  in  Bird's  hand: 
«'  This  (the  vine  branch)  was  the  badge  of  a  centurion's  office, 
and  he  should  carry  it — at  least  in  camp  and  in  his  embassies. " 


THE  GLADIATOR  331 

CRASS. 

Get  thee  gone. 
When  thou  art  worthy,  ask  her,  and  no  sooner. 

(Exit  FLORUS.) 

A  most  mad,  insolent  boy,  and  honest  son 
Of  a  breeder  of  cutthroats !     Would  some  knave  would 

hang  him. 

He  has  the  damsel's  heart  too.     See,  she  comes.— 
Is  the  litter  ready  ? 

(Enter  JULIA.) 

JUL. 

It  cannot  be,  dear  uncle, 
You  will  send  me  to  the  country  ? 

CRASS. 

It  cannot  be ! 

What,  chuff,  it  cannot  be?     In  faith,  it  can  be, 
And,  instantly,  it  shall  be : — Into  the  country, 
To  weep  and  meditate.     I  am  ashamed 
You  have  so  poor  a  spirit  as  to  love 
This  base-born   Capuan,   whose   whole  wealth   you 

might, 
Piled  up  in  coin,  base  on  a  puny  drachma. 

JUL. 

Ah !  When  did  love  e'er  think  of  drachmas,  uncle? 
<You  would  have  me,  when  a  lover  moans,  demand 

him, 

Could  he  coin  gold,  as  easily  as  sighs; 
Or  when  he  wept,  ask  if  his  pockets  had 
As  many  talents  as  his  eyes  had  tears. 


332    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Then  should  he  change  his  manner,  and  where  he 

might 

Have  wooed  me  with  soft  words,  assault  me  with 
A  schedule  of  his  properties;  instead 
Of  flattering,  boast  me  of  his  lands;  his  vows 
Change  into  oaths  of,  lord,  how  rich  he  was. 
How  could  I  say  him  nay?> 

CRASS. 

A  milksop  boy, 

That  has  done  nothing  in  the  world  but  breathe, — 
Has  won  no  name  or  fortune.     Why  should  such 
A  natural  expletive,  <a  sack  of  breath,  > 
Aspire  to  wealth  or  woman  ?     When  he  proves  him 
Worth  his  existence,  then  let  him  aspire. 
Till  then  thou  shalt  be  hid  from  his  presumption, 
Even  in  Campania. 

JUL. 

Oh,  but  not  today. 

Tomorrow,  or  the  next  day,  when  the  games  are  done. 
I  must  see  them :  'twould  kill  me,  not  to  look 
Once  more  upon  the  fighting  gladiators. 

CRASS. 

Pho! 

Thou  a  green  girl,  and  talk  of  gladiators ! 
My  youth  was  pass'd  in  battles,  and  I  am  not 
Unused  to  blood ;  but  my  flesh  always  creeps, 
To  see  these  cold-blood  slaughters. 

JUL. 

So  does  mine. 

Ugh !  my  heart  stops  with  terror,  and  my  eyes 
Seem  parting  from  their  sockets;  my  brain  reels, 


THE  GLADIATOR  333 

While  I  look  on;  and  while  I  look,  each  time, 
I  swear  I  ne'er  will  look  again.     But  when 
They  battle  boldly,  and  the  people  shout, 
And  the  poor  creatures  look  so  fearless, — frowning, 
Not  groaning,  when  they  are  hurt : — Indeed  'tis  noble ! 
<And  though  they  fright  me,  always  make  me  weep, 
I  love  to  see  them.     These  are  your  own  shows  :> 
Oh,  I  must  see  them. 

jov. 

This  is  a  brave  maiden. 

<  You  should  look  on  a  battle — two  great  armies, 
(Perhaps  a  hundred  thousand  men  apiece:) 
Fighting  as  staunchly  as  so  many  wolves, 
Throttling  and  stabbing,  dying  in  multitudes, — 
A  chaos  of  death : — Even  such  a  one  as  that 
(My  own  first  fight)  at  Aqua  Sextia, 
Against  the  Ambrones,  where  a  hundred  thousand 
Of  the  barbarians  fell. 

JUL. 

An  hundred  thousand! 

jov. 
Was  it  not  glorious? 

JUL. 
Horrid! 

JOV. 

Horrid!     Humph, 
Still  woman. — But  these  were  barbarians. 


334    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

JUL. 
Were  they  not  men  ? 

jov. 

Why  yes,  a  sort  of  men. 

They  had  legs  and  arms,  noses  and  eyes  like  men, 
They  bled  like  men;  but,  being  barbarians, 
Of  not  much  matter  of  account  as  men. 

JUL. 

That  makes  a  difference.     But  an  hundred  thousand 
Was  many  to  kill,  even  of  barbarians. 

CRASS. 

Come,  you're  a  goose,  you  know  not  what  you  say. 

JUL. 

O  but  these  gladiators!     My  friend,  Caloeia, 
Told  me  that  famous  one,  Phasarius, 
Would  fight  today.     He  is  a  handsome  rogue, 
And  kills  a  man  the  prettiest  in  the  world.  > 

CRASS. 

You  shall  not  see  him. 

JUL. 

Dear  my  uncle. 

CRASS. 

You  came 

Into  this  city,  modest  and  obedient; 
Now  you  have  learnt  to  cog,  cajole  and  cozen; 
And,  in  the  teeth  of  my  authority, 


THE  GLADIATOR  335 

Give  private  hopes  to  this  low  Capuan; 
And,  while  mine  eyes  are  tied  upon  the  games, 
Would — But  I'll  balk  your  hoped  for  interviews. 
The  litter  waits  you  at  the  door.     Farewell. 
This  good  old  man,  who  once  was  my  tried  client, 
Shall  have  you  in  charge.     Now  no  more  opposition. 
Farewell.     Be  wise,  and  love  none  but  the  worthy. 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  II.  A  court  before  LENTULUS'S  house. 
Enter  FLORUS  with  SPARTACUS,  CRIXUS,  and  other 
Gladiators. 

FLOR. 

You  have  played  well,  and  beaten  Crixus  fairly. 
Carry  this  skilfulness  to  the  arena, 
And  you  shall  win  great  honour. 

SPART. 

Great  degradation. 

No  matter :  I  am  sworn  to  be  a  caitiff. 
Where  have  you  placed  my  wife  ?      It  was  conditioned , 
You  should  not  part  us. 

FLOR. 

She  is  lodged  hard  by : 

After  the  combat,  you  shall  see  her. — Come, 
Play  me  a  bout  here  with  Soturius. 
I'll  fetch  you  foils. 

SPART. 
I'll  play  no  more :  I  was  not  sworn  to  that. 


336    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FLOR. 

You  cannot  go  too  well  prepared. 

SPART. 

Even  as  I  stand, 

Awkward  or  skilful,  doomed  to  die  or  kill, 
So  will  I  go. — I'll  train  no  more  for  murder. 

FLOR. 

Well,  as  you  will. 

SPART. 

Will  it  not  be  enough, 
If  I  disarm  or  worst  my  enemy  ? 
May  I  not  spare  him  ? 

FLOR. 

Not  unless  the  people 

Grant  you  permission.     <When  you  have  him  at 
Your  mercy,  look  to  the  spectators  then. 
If  they  consent,  they  will  their  thumbs  raise — thus: 
Then  you  shall  spare.     But  if  their  hands  be  clenched, 
And  the  thumbs  hid,  then  must  you  slay.  > 

SPART. 

Well,  well^ 
I  understand. 

FLOR. 

Breathe  yourselves  here  awhile, 
Then  follow  to  the  armoury. 

(Exit.) 

SPART. 

Good  brother, 
Have  you  yet  fought  i'  th'  Amphitheatre? 


THE  GLADIATOR  337 

CRIX. 

Ay. 

SPART. 

And  killed 
Your  adversary? 

CRIX. 

Ay.     Each  one  of  us 
Has  won  some  reputation. 

SPART. 

Reputation ! 
Call  you  this  reputation? 

This  is  the  bulldog's  reputation: 

He  and  the  gladiator  only  need 

The  voice  o'  the  master,  to  set  on  to  mischief. — 

Love  you  your  masters? 

CRIX. 

No. 


Go  ye  to  perish  ? 


SPART. 

Or  of  your  own  wishes 

CRIX. 


No;  but  being  slaves, 

We  care  not  much  for  life;  and  think  it  better 
To  die  upon  the  arena,  than  the  cross. 


SPART. 


If  ye  care  not  for  life,  why  die  ye  not 
Rather  like  men,  than  dogs? 


338    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CRIX. 

What  mean  you? 

SPART. 

Were  it  not  better 

To  turn  upon  your  masters,  and  so  die, 
Killing  them  that  oppress  you,  rather  than  fall, 
Killing  your  brother  wretches  ? 

CRIX. 

True,  it  were. 

Put  arms  into  our  hands,  unlock  our  dungeons, 
And  set  us  out  among  the  citizens; 
Then  ask  this  question. 

SPART. 

Do  you  say  this?  By  heaven, 
This  spirit  joys  me. — Fight  ye  all  today? 

CRIX. 

We  are  so  ordered. 

SPART. 
How  many  do  you  number? 

CRIX. 

Fifty. 

SPART. 

Fifty?     How  many  hath  this  Roman, 
This  villain  Bracchius? 

CRIX. 

Some  five  and  thirty. 


THE  GLADIATOR  339 

SPART. 


And  fight  they  all? 


CRIX. 

Some  forty  pairs  today. 


SPART. 
O  heaven,  what,  forty? 


Two  hundred  pairs. 


CRIX. 

And  ere  the  shows  are  done, 

SPART. 


Two  hundred  pairs ! — Four  hundred 
Arm'd  slaves,  that  hate  their  masters! 

CRIX. 

On  the  third  day, 
All  that  survive,  will  fight  in  general  battle. 

SPART. 

In  general  battle! — If  Senona  now, 

And  the  young  infant  were  in  Thrace. — Alas, 

To  peril  them. — 

CRIX. 

What  say'st  thou,  Thracian? 

SPART. 

Nothing ; 
At  least,  not  much. — Are  there  now  troops  in  Rome? 


340    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD, 

CRIX. 

Four  legions  of  Praetorian  Guards;  and  now 
Each  legion  counts  five  thousand. 

SPART. 

'Twill  not  do. 

CRIX. 

What  will  not  do? 

SPART. 

I'll  tell  you  by  and  by: 

'Tis  worth  your  ear. — But  let  us  now  go  arm, 
Then  to  the  Arena,  to  begin  the  work 
Of  slavish  murder. — We  are  gladiators. 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  III.  The  Arena  of  an  Amphitheatre,  be 
hind  which  are  many  citizens.  CRASSUS  seated  with  his 
Lictors,  MUMMIUS,  LENTULUS,  BRACCHIUS,  FLORUS, 
and  many  officers, — fiLdiles,  Conquisitores ,  etc. 

CRASS. 

Let  our  good  friends,  the  citizens,  be  seated. 

We  purpose  to  delight  their  humours  with 

The  bravest  gladiators  of  this  realm. — 

What  say 'st  thou,  Capuan  ?    Why  tell  me,  thou 

Hast  brought  me  some  brave  cutthroats,  to  be  pitched, 

Through  the  first  hours,  in  single  combat,  with 

The  best  slaves  of  our  Bracchius. 

LENT. 

Even  so, 
Most  noble  praetor;  and,  with  the  consent 


THE  GLADIATOR  341 

Of  your  appointed  officers,  we  first 
Will  bring  a  lusty  Thracian,  who,  although 
Yet  unadventured  in  the  Arena,  bears 
A  name  of  valour. 

CRASS. 

Let  him  before  us. 

(Exit  FLORUS.) 

Had  Thracians,  by  their  firesides,  fought  as  fiercely 
As  now  they  fight  upon  the  Roman  sand, 
The  cranes  o'  the  Strymon  still  had  been  their  sentries. 

(Reenter  FLORUS,  with  SPARTACUS,  as  a  gladiator.) 

Is  this  the  man?    A  very  capital  knave; 

Yet,  or  I  err,  of  but  a  little  spirit. 

Where  is  the  fiery  confidence,  should  flash 

From  his  bold  eyes?    the  keen  and  tameless  spirit, 

Should  brace  his  strong  limbs  to  activity? 

LENT. 

Driveller,  arouse  thee! — Let  not  his  gloom  condemn 

him: 

He  is  most  wayward,  but,  in  truth,  right  valiant. 
What,   sirrah,   shake  off  these  clouds,   and  do  thy 

homage 
To  the  most  noble  praetor.     Bend  thy  knee. 

SPART. 

Did  I  swear  that?     Kneel  thou,  whose  servile  soul 
Was  given  for  crouching.     I  am  here  to  fight! 

CRASS. 
This  is  some  madman ! 


342    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

LENT. 

A  barbarian, 
Bred  in  a  savage  roughness. 

SPART. 

Well,  I  am  here, 

Among  these  beasts  of  Rome,  a  spectacle. 
This  is  the  temple,  where  they  mock  the  Gods 
With  human  butchery, — Most  grand  and  glorious 
Of  structure  and  device! — It  should  have  been  a  cave, 
Some  foul  and  midnight  pit,  or  den  of  bones, 
Where  murder  best  might  veil  himself  from  sight. — 
Women  and  children,  too,  to  see  men  die, 
And  clap  their  hands  at  every  stab !     This  is 
The  boastful  excellence  of  Rome !     I  thank  the  Gods 
There  are  Barbarians. 

CRASS. 

Now  by  Jupiter, 

The  rogue  speaks  well — But  Romans  must  be  pleased- 
Sirrah, —     (Conies  down  center.) 

SPART. 

Roman ! 

CRASS. 

Most  impudently  bold. 
I  did  mistake  him.     Prepare  thyself. 

SPART. 

I  am  ready, 

As  ready  to  die,  as  thou  to  see  me  die. 
Where  is  the  opponent?     Of  what  nation  comes 
The  man  that  I  must  kill? 


THE  GLADIATOR  343 

CRASS. 

What  matters  it? 

SPART. 

Much,  very  much.     Bring  me  some  base  ally 
Of  Roman  rapine,  or,  if  ye  can,  a  Roman: — 
I  will  not  grieve  to  slay  him. 

CRASS. 

Faith,  I  like 

This  fearless  taunting,  and  will  sound  it  further. 
Thy  foe  shall  be  a  Spaniard. 

SPART. 

Alas,  I  should 

Bethink  me  of  his  country,  as  of  mine, 
Ruined  and  harried  by  our  common  foe; 
His  kinsmen  slain,  his  wife  and  children  sold, 
And  nothing  left  of  all  his  country's  greatness, 
Save  groans  and  curses  on  the  conquerors. 

CRASS. 
A  Carthaginian. 

SPART. 

What,  a  Carthaginian? 
A  relic  of  that  noble  tribe,  that  ne'er 
Would  call  Rome  friend,  and  perished  rather  than 
Become  Rome's  vassal?     I  could  not  fight  with  him: 
We  should  drop  swords,  and  recollect  together, 
As  brothers,  how  the  Punic  steel  had  smote, 
Of  yore,  to  Rome's  chill'd   heart;  yea,  how    Rome 
quaked, 


344     DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

How  shook  her  proud  sons,  when  the  African 
Burst  from  the  sea,  like  to  its  mightiest  surge, 
Swept  your  vain  shores,  and  swallow' d  up  your  armies ! 
How,  when  his  weapons,  gored  with  consular  blood, 
Waved  o'er  your  towns,  your  bucklered  boasters  fled, 
Or  shook,  like  aguish  boys,  and  wept  and  prayed: — 
Yea,  feared  to  die,  and  wept  and  prayed. 

LENT. 

< Peace,  villain.  > 

CRASS. 

Strike  him  not,  Lentulus.     The  prattler  knows 
There's  scarce  a  man  of  the  Punic  stock  left  living, 
To  boast  of  these  mishaps. — Thy  adversary 
Is  a  brave  Gaul. 

SPART. 

Why  there  again!     The  name 
Speaks  of  Rome's  shame.     Name  but  a  Gaul,  and  I 
Bethink  me  of  the  Tiber  running  blood, 
His  tributaries  choked  with  knightly  corses; 
Of  Rome  in  ashes,  and  of  Brennus  laughing 
At  the  starved  cravens  in  the  Capitol. 

CRASS. 

Sirrah,  no  more. 

Be  but  thy  sword  as  biting  as  thy  tongue, 

And  I'll  assure  thee  victory. — Bring  in 

The  Gaul.     Use  thy  best  skill,  if  skill  thou  hast, 

Or  I'll  not  lay  an  obolus  on  thy  life. — 

(A  Gallic  Gladiator  is  brought  in.} 
Clear  the  Arena  (Ascends  chair  again). 


THE  GLADIATOR  345 

SPART. 

I  will  fight  with  him; 
But  give  me  to  spare  his  life. 

CRASS. 

That  privilege 

Rests  with  the  people.     Remember  thy  oath. — Sound, 
trumpets. 

(A  flourish.) 

SPART. 

Brother — 

CRASS. 
No  words;  but  do  thy  best.     < He'll  spit  thee.  > 

(They  fight.    The  GAUL  is  disarmed,  and  thrown  on  his 

knees.    SPARTACUS  looks  to  the  people.) 
Thine  oath!     Strike,  < villain !>  Hah! 
(SPARTACUS  kills  the  GAUL.) 

Why  that  was  bravely  done. 

SPART. 
Well,  I  have  done  it.     Let  me  go  hence. 

CRASS. 

Not  so. — 
Most  nobly  fought! 

SPART. 

Alas,  alas,  poor  slave ! — 

CRASS. 
Bring  me  another. 

(The  body  is  taken  away.) 


346   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SPART. 

I  will  fight  no  more. 

CRASS. 
Sirrah! 

SPART. 
I  have  heart  enough  to  die,  but  not  to  kill. 

CRASS. 

Why  'twas  most  capitally  done!     Remember 
Thy  oath. 

SPART. 
I  care  not.     I  will  fight  no  more. 

CRASS. 

Thou  shalt  have  freedom.     Nay,  I'll  ransome  for  thee, 
Thy  wife  and  boy. 

SPART. 

Wilt  thou? 

CRASS. 

By  Mars,  I  will. 

Fight  through  these  games;  and  thou  and  they  shall  be 
Sent  back  to  Thrace. 

SPART. 

Shall  we  see  Thrace  again?— 
Let  him  come  on;  yes,  though  it  sick  my  soul, — 
Let  him  come  on. 


THE  GLADIATOR  347 

CRASS. 

Bring  in  the  Thracian! 

(Exit  BRACCHIUS.) 

SPART. 

Thracian? 
I  will  not  fight  a  Thracian!     'Tis  my  countryman! 

CRASS. 

Nay,  but  thou  shalt,  and  kill  him  too;  or  thou 
And  they,  are  slaves  eternally. 

SPART. 

O  heaven ! 

Bring  me  a  Spaniard,  German,  Carthaginian, 
Another  Gaul,  a  Greek — any  but  Thracian. 

CRASS. 

None 

But  this  same  Thracian  is  thy  match;  and  truly 
If  thou  slay  him,  there  will  remain  no  other 
Worthy  of  thee.     Thou  shalt  be  quickly  free. 

SPART. 
I  will  fight  two — three — so  they  be  not  Thracians. 

CRASS. 

The  Thracian,  or  eternal  bondage;  bondage 
For  wife  and  child  too. 

SPART. 

Wilt  thou  swear  to  free  us  ? 
Fight  with  a  Thracian! — Wilt  thou  swear  to  free  us? 


348    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CRASS. 

Bring  hither  the  Vindicta:    With  this  rod, 
If  thou  escape  this  man,  the  praetor  frees  thee. 

(Reenter  BRACCHIUS,  with  PHASARIUS.) 
This  is  thy  foe. 

PHAS. 
(Aside.)     What,  do  I  dream? 


SPART. 


Alas, 

Thou  art  a  Thracian  and  my  countryman, 
And  yet  we  meet  as  deadly  foes.     Forgive  me. 

PHAS. 

(Aside.)     This  is  no  fantasy! 


Thy  boaster  hesitates. 


CRASS. 
Observe  them,  Bracchius: 

PHAS. 
Thou  art  a  Thracian  ? 


SPART. 
Would  thou  wert  not. 

PHAS. 

Of  the  Ciconian  tribe — 
A  son  of  blue- waved  Hebrus? 

SPART. 

Such  I  am. 

And  comest  thou  too  of  the  same  race  ?  and  set 
Against  thy  brother? 


THE  GLADIATOR  349 


PHAS. 


Brother,  indeed! 
Thy  name  is  Spartacus. 

SPART. 

Where  learn't  you  that? 
Freemen  have  heard  it,  but  not  slaves. 

PHAS. 
How  fares  thy  father  ? 

SPART. 

Didst  thou  know  him? — Dead — 
I  cannot  fight  thee. 

PHAS. 
Hadst  thou  not  a  brother? — 

CRASS. 

Why  prate  these  cutthroats?     Come,  prepare,  pre 
pare — 

SPART. 

A  young,  brave  heart,  whose  steps  I  taught  to  dare 
The  crags  and  chasms  and  roaring  cataracts 
Of  his  own  native  hills,  till  he  was  freer 
Among  them  than  the  eagles.     What  art  thou, 
That  seem'st  to  know  him?     I  would  be  angry  with 

thee: 
These  words  make  me  look  on  thee  as  a  friend. 

PHAS. 

Seem  I  not  like  Phasarius? 


350   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SPART. 

What,  thou? 

A  mailed  warrior  like  a  singing  boy  ? — 
The  Romans  slew  him. 

PHAS. 

They  enslaved  him — Brother, 
Changed  as  I  am,  and  from  a  harmless  boy, 
Turned  to  a  rough  destroyer,  still  am  I 
The  selfsame  fool  that  once  thou  called 'st  brother. 

SPART. 
Thou  mock'st  me.     Thou ! 

PHAS. 

My  father,  Menalon — 

SPART. 
Thy  father,  Menalon? 

PHAS. 
My  mother — 

SPART. 

Ay,  thy  mother? 

PHAS. 

Laodice. 

SPART. 
My  brother ! 

CRASS. 
What  mean  these  rogues,  that  they  have  dropped 

their  swords, 
And  fain,  like  friends,  about  each  other's  necks? 


THE  GLADIATOR  351 

What  ho,  ye  slaves,  give  o'er  this  timeless  juggling: 
Take  up  your  swords,  and  look  ye  to  the  signal. 

SPART. 

I  do  believe  the  gods  have  given  me  o'er 
To  some  new  madness :  First,  I  find  in  Rome, 
Where  naught  I  looked  for  but  despair,  my  wife 
And  then  my  brother ! 

<  CRASS. 

Villains! 

SPART. 

But  I  am  sorry 
To  find  thee  here,  Phasarius.  > 

LENT. 

<  Whining  miscreant,  > 
Why  mark'st  thou  not  the  praetor? 


Let  the  trumpet  sound. 


CRASS. 

<  Rogues,  prepare.  > 


SPART. 
Bring  me  my  adversary. 


CRASS. 
Thou  hast  him  there. 

SPART. 


What  he?     This  is  my  brother. 
You  would  not  have  me  fight  with  him ! 


352    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CRASS. 


His  brother? 


PHAS. 
'Tis  true,  most  excellent  praetor. 


CRASS. 

Now,  by  Hercules, 
This  is  too  strange  for  truth. 

LENT. 

Ye  cogging  rogues, 
Think  ye  to  balk  us  thus? 

<BRAC. 

Conspiracy ! 

Shameful  collusion!  Out  on  you,  Phasarius, 
You're  not  afeard  now?     Out,  ye  cheating  villain.  > 

PHAS. 
Hear  me,  good  praetor — 

CRASS. 

<  Rogues  > ,  prepare  yourselves. 
This  is  a  most  evident  knavery,  to  'scape 
From  one  another. — Brothers  indeed! — Prepare; 
Take  up  your  arms. 

SPART. 
Foul  Roman — 

CRASS. 

Bring  me  in 
The  guarding  cohort:  (An  Officer  goes  out.)     I'll  have 

them  cut  to  pieces, 
If  they  refuse  the  battle. — Brothers  indeed! 


THE  GLADIATOR  353 


SPART. 

Thou  hard,  unnatural  man — 

PHAS. 

Patience,  brother — 

SPART. 
Let  them  come  in — We  are  armed. — 

CRASS. 

Most  strange  and  insolent  contumacy ! 

PHAS. 

(Aside.)     'Tis  something  sudden — and  in  Rome! — 
Peace  brother. — 

SPART. 

We  will  resist  them,  armed  as  we  are. 
Can  we  not  die? 

PHAS. 

Most  worthy  praetor,  pardon. 
Grant  us  a  word  together,  and  we  are  ready. 

CRASS. 

Fine  knavery!     I  did  almost  suspect 
Yon  cutthroat  for  a  coward — that  'twas  skill  alone 
Gave  him  his  courage,  which  he  fear'd  to  try 
With  that  more  skilful  savage.     For  the  barbarian, 
His  soul  is  made  of  contrariety. 
33 


354     DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PHAS. 

(Apart  to  SPART.)     I  know  them  all — This  thing  was 

hatch 'd  before.— 
They  wait  without, 

Circled  by  cohorts,  but  all  arm'd  for  combat. 
Let  me  but  raise  the  cry  of  Freedom  to  them, 
And  each  man  strikes  his  Roman  to  the  earth. 

SPART. 

The  slaves  of  Lentulus — they  will  strike  too: 
Let  us  but  reach  them,  and  they  rise  with  us.— 

PHAS. 

One  moment,  princely  praetor. 

CRASS. 

Not  an  instant. 

What,  shall  our  shows  wait  on  the  time  and  pleasure 
Of  our  base  bondmen  ?     Sound  the  trumpets  there — 
What,  treachery,  ho !     Call  in  the  soldiers  !— 

PHAS. 

Freedom 
For  gladiators ! 

SPART. 

Death  to  all  their  masters!— 

CRASS. 

Treachery  !— 

SPART. 

Death  to  the  Roman  fiends,  that  make  their  mirth 
Out  of  the  groans  of  bleeding  misery ! 


THE  GLADIATOR  355 

Ho,  slaves,  arise!  it  is  your  hour  to  kill! 
Kill  and  spare  not — For  wrath  and  liberty ! — 
Freedom  for  bondmen — freedom  and  revenge ! — 
(Shouts  and  trumpets — The  guards  and  gladiators  rush 
and  engage  in  combat,  as  the  curtain  falls .) 

END   OF  ACT   II. 


ACT  III 

SCENE  I.1  A  room  in  CRASSUS'S  house.  Enter 
CRASSUS,  Jovius,  LENTULUS,  BRACCHIUS,  MUMMIUS. 

<  CRASS. 

Incredible!    What,  fight  a  consular  army? 
Or  look  one  in  the  face? 

jov. 

So  says  the  courier. 

'Tis  sworn,  that  half  the  slaves  of  Italy 
Are  flocking  to  his  banner. 

CRASS. 

Fight  a  consul ! 
Fight  Cneus  Lentulus! 

jov. 

'Tis  not  so  much 

To  one  who  has  already  beat  a  proconsul. 
You'll  not  doubt  that?  nor  that  these  madman  slaves, 
Led  by  this  whirlwind  slayer — 

1  There  is  a  query  in  Bird's  handwriting  "whether  to  restore  the 
beginning  of  this  scene  or  some  part  of  it?  "  It  seems  that  Dr. 
Bird  submitted  the  MS.  of  The  Gladiator  to  Edwin  Forrest  for 
revision,  who  no  doubt  suggested  many  of  the  cuts  indicated. 

356 


THE  GLADIATOR  357 

LENT. 

My  precious  Thracian ! — 

jov. 

Have  vanquished  severally,  and  in  pitched  battles, 
Three  praetors  of  the  provinces. 

CRASS. 

Shame  upon  them ! 

Sneers  for  their  lives,  contempt  for  epitaphs! 
Beaten  by  slaves ! — I  warrant  me,  by  mine — 
Two  thousand  costly  and  ungrateful  villains : — 
I'll  hang  them,  every  man. — Beaten  by  slaves, 
Gross,  starving,  unarmed  slaves! 

jov. 

Not  now  unarmed . 

Each  rogue  has  got  a  Roman  harness  on, 
Filched  from  the  carcass  of  a  Roman  veteran. 
Not  starving  neither,  whilst  every  day  they  sack 
Some  camp  or  city — pouncing  sudden  down, 
Like  vultures,  from  their  hills  upon  our  troops. 

CRASS. 

Scandalous,  scandalous!     Slaves,  wretched  slaves, 
Led  by  a  slave  too ! 

LENT. 
Still  my  precious  Thracian ! 

CRASS. 

A  scurvy  gladiator,  with  no  brains; 
An  ignorant  savage. — 


358    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

jov. 

Come,  give  the  rogue  his  due: 
He  has  more  brains  than  all  our  generals, 
For  he  has  beaten  them;  that's  a  soldier's  proof. 
This  Spartacus,  so  late  a  bondman,  has 
A  soul  for  master;  though  a  shepherd  bred, 
He  has  fought  battles,  ay,  and  led  men  too, — 
Some  mountain  malcontents  in  his  own  land,— 
'Gainst  Roman  conquerors;  and,  by  the  faith 
Of  honesty,  for  honest  I  will  be, 
In  courage,  stratagem,  resource,  exploits, 
He  shows  a  good  commander.     He  has  formed, 
Out  of  this  slavish,  ragged  scum,  an  army; 
Arms  it  and  feeds  it  at  his  foeman's  cost, 
Recruits  it  in  his  foeman's  territory; 
Which  foe  is  renowned  Rome,  resistless  Rome, 
Rome  the  great  head  and  empress  of  the  world ! 
Is  he  not  then  a  general  ? 

CRASS. 

I  grant  you, 

The  rogue  is  not  a  common  one;  but  still 
A  slave.     And  much  it  shames  me  that  the  senate 
Finds  me  no  worthier  enemy;  whom  to  conquer, 
Wins  neither  spoil  nor  honour. 

jov. 

No  spoil  indeed, 

Unless  you  count  their  arms  and  bodies  such ; 
But  honour  enough  to  him  that  beats  the  vanquisher 
Of  some  half  score  commanders :  There's  your  honour. 
Come,  stir  these  centuries:  My  old  bones  are  aching 
For  one  more  battering,  ere  they  fall  to  dust. 


THE  GLADIATOR  359 

The  reprobates  must  be  put  down,  that's  certain, 
And  by  yourself,  or  Pompey.  > 

CRASS. 

Now  the  gods  rest  him ! 
Is  there  no  trouble  can  befal  the  state, 
But  men  must  cry  for  Pompey?     As  if  Rome 
Had  whelped  no  other  fit  to  do  her  service. 
<  Still  is  it  Pompey,  great  and  valiant  Pompey, 
Must  all  our  state  thorns  conjure  into' laurels. — 
Well,  Crassus  is  not  Pompey,  but  may  serve 
For  the  besom. 

jov. 

What,  a  besom? 

CRASS. 

Ay,  to  sweep  away 
This   filthy   blush  out   of   Rome's   cheek. >— These 

varlets, 

These  fooled  lanistce,  that  have  trained  slaves  up 
To  fight  their  masters,  shall  to  camp  with  me, 
And  of  the  evils  they  have  caused,  partake. 

LENT. 

I  am  willing. 

I'll  kill  my  Thracian,  though  he  be  a  general. 

BRACH. 

It  matters  not  how  soon  I  am  knock 'd  o'  the  head. 
I  have  not  now  a  gladiator  left. — 
The  rogues  have  ruined  me. 


360     DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CRASS. 

Where  is  thy  son? 
This  knave  shall  march  too.     Have  you  brought  the 

woman, 
The  wife  o'  the  Thracian,  here  to  Rome? 

LENT. 

I  have  sent  for  her. 

My  son  has  gone  into  Campania . 

CRASS. 

What,  to  Campania  ?     Now  by  Jupiter, 
This  fool  will  set  me  mad. 

LENT. 

I  know  not  that. 

He  went  with  the  band  of  youthful  volunteers, 
To  the  camp  of  Gellius,  the  consul. 

JOV. 

Bravely  done. 

That  was  in  memory  of  our  counselling. 
But  now  for  action.     <You  remember,  praetor, 
This  consul  prays  immediate  succours,  being 
But  ill  provided,  should  the  Gladiator, 
In  contest  with  his  colleague,  prove  victorious, 
As  there  is  ground  to  fear;  for  Lentulus, 
At  the  last  word,  was  at  extremities. 
Being  deprived  too  by  the  angry  senate 
Of  their  authority,  their  mutinous  troops 
But  scurvily  obey  them.  >     Should  the  rebels 
Come  near  your  country-seat — 


THE  GLADIATOR  361 

CRASS. 

No  more  of  that : 

The  consul  shall  protect  her. — Presently 
Bring  me  six  legions;  which,  being  added  to 
The  consular  troops  and  the  knights  volunteers, 
We'll  have  appointed  to  this  service.     Then 
There  shall  be  knocks  enough,  I  promise  you. 
See  that  these  people  follow,  and  all  men 
Whose  slaves  have  joined  the  rebels.     It  is  reason, 
The  rogues  should  kill  no  masters  but  their  own. 

(Exeunt.} 

SCENE  II.  A  plain  in  Campania,  after  the  battle. 
Some  corses  lying  about.  March  of  trumpets.  Enter, 
sumptuously  armed,  SPARTACUS,  PHASARIUS,  CRIXUS, 
^ENOMAIIS,  and  Attendants. 

SPART. 

So,  we  are  victors,  conquerors  again. 

The  hotbrained  boasters,  that  in  mockery  thought 

To  ape  the  angry  Scythian,  and  subdue  us 

With  whips,  instead  of  warlike  instruments, 

Lie  hush'd  and  gory;  and,  despite  the  claim 

Of  their  high  honours  and  nobility, 

There  is  no  slave  too  base  to  tread  upon  them. 

There  he's  a  Consul. — I  have  known  that  word 

Fright  men  more  than  the  name  of  gorgeous  kings. 

Say  to  barbaric  States,  A  Consul  comes, 

A  Roman  Consul,  and  their  preparation 

Of  war  or  welcome,  speaks  a  demigod. 

And  yet  lies  he  on  the  opprobrious  earth, 

A  palmy  Consul,  by  a  slave's  hand  slain, 


362    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

No  nobler  than  his  horse — a  thing  to 
Glut  the  starved  hyena's  maw. x 

PHAS. 

Ay — and  there's  another 
Must  lie  beside  him. 

SPART. 

Speak  you  of  Gellius? 

PHAS. 

Ay,  marry.     I'll  fight  now  nothing  less  than  consuls. 
There  is  another  of  them,  and  I  say, 
Another  battle  and  another  victory. 

CRIX. 

'Tis  but  to  will,  and  we  have  won  it. 

SPART. 

Ay; 

But  not  today.     Our  medly  bands  have  earned 
Their  armour,  and  are  weary. — 'Tis  full  six  leagues 
To  Gellius'  camp. 

CRIX. 
My  Germans  will  not  fear  it. 

SPART. 

It  cannot  be,  and  must  not. 

CRIX. 

Must  not,  Spartacus? 
1  The  original  reading,  struck  out  in  the  MS.,  was, — 

" — a  thing  to  rot 
In  a  hyena's  paunch." 

The  reading  I  have  adopted  is  written  in  a  hand  resembling 
Forrest's,  in  pencil,  and  is  probably  his  suggestion. 


THE  GLADIATOR  363 

SPART. 

Ay,  man,  I  say  so :  this  thing  must  not  be. 
When  ye  were  few,  with  one  consent,  ye  chose  me 
Your  leader,  with  each  man  an  oath  to  yield 
To  me  sole  guidance.     This  was  little  honour, 
To  be  the  chief  of  fourscore  fugitives, 
And  none  would  have  it,  save  myself.     I  took  it, 
And  ye  have  prospered.     Under  my  authority, 
In  a  few  days  your  ranks  have  been  swell'd  up 
To  fearful  thousands;  and  from  a  band  of  slaves, 
Skulking  in  caves,  you  have  become  an  army 
Can  fight  a  Roman  Consul.     This  is  proof, 
I  have  deserved  obedience;  and  therefore, 
1  still  command  it. 

CRIX. 

And  my  countrymen 

Myself  have  made  their  leader;  and  they  bid  me 
Lead  them  to  Gellius. 

SPART. 

We  are  but  one  army, 
With  but  one  object,  howsoe'er  our  ranks 
Are  filled  with  various  nations.     We  are  slaves, 
All  of  us  slaves,  contesting  for  our  freedom; 
And  so  far  free,  that  we  have  arms  and  kill ; 
No  further.     We  have  yet  to  cut  our  way 
Out  of  this  tyrant  empire;  which  to  do, 
We  must  destroy  more  armies,  that  are  gathering 
To  hem  us  in.     We  do  not  fight  for  conquest, 
But  conquer  for  our  liberties ;  and  they 
Are  lost  by  rashness.     Let  us  rest  our  troops, 
And  think  of  Gellius  on  the  morrow. 


364     DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CRIX. 

Today,  today, 

Ere  he  have  rallied  this  fight's  fugitives. 

SPART. 

The  thousands  that  are  crowding  to  our  lines 
Will,  by  the  dawn,  have  trebled  all  his  gain. 

CRIX. 

I  will  beat  him  with  the  Germans  alone. 

SPART. 

You  shall  not; 
I  am  your  general,  and  forbid  you. 

CRIX. 

Thracian, 
I  was  a  slave,  but  am  not  now. 

PHAS. 

Brother  Crixus, 

On  second  thoughts,  'tis  better  put  this  off, 
According  as  the  general  commands. 

CRIX. 

I  am  sole  leader  of  my  countrymen. 

PHAS. 
Sirrah,  thou  art  a  mutineer.— 

SPART. 

Peace,  brother. — 

PHAS. 

Defy  the  general !     If  one  beggar's  rogue 
Of  all  his  Germans  dare  to  leave  the  lines, 
I'll  have  him  spitted  like  a  cur. 


THE  GLADIATOR  365 

SPART. 

Peace,  brother. 

Contention  will  harm  worse  than  this  partition. 
German,  thou  hast  thy  wish :  depart  in  peace, 
But  without  hope  of  succour,  if  the  Roman 
Prevail  above  thee. 

PHAS. 

Pray  the  gods  he  do! 

<And  thwack  them  till  they  are  skinless,  all. 
Base  rascals 
And  mutineers  !> 

SPART. 

Take  all  thy  countrymen, 
Or  all  that  wish  to  follow  thee. 

(Exit  CRIXUS.) 

PHAS. 

Rank  mutiny! 
Why  did  you  let  him  go  ? 

SPART. 

To  teach  him,  brother, 
Him  and  some  others  of  our  lieutenants, 
(For  we  are  growing  mad  upon  success,) 
An  humbling  lesson.     A  defeat  were  now 
Better  than  victory;  and,  in  his  Germans, 
We  best  can  bear  it. 

PHAS. 

Let  them  go,  and  hang; 
They  are  all  villanous  hotheads,  and  presumptuous 


366    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Beyond  all  tolerance.     And,  to  punish  them, 
They  shall  not  share  with  us  the  fame  and  spoil 
Of  the  sack'd  city. 

SPART. 

Brother,  I  think  thou  art 
Almost  as  madbrained  as  the  rest. 

PHAS. 

I  have 

A  kind  of  ardour,  that,  for  aught  I  know, 
May  be  a  lunacy.     But  this  is  clear: 
Rome  is  a  city;  cities  may  be  sack'd; 
So  Rome  may  be. 

SPART. 

A  city,  that  the  world 

Looks  frighted  at,  even  in  her  sleep  of  peace, 
As  gazers  look  at  sleeping  lions.     I  told 
This  German  fool,  we  did  not  fight  for  conquest, 
But  for  a  passport  to  our  several  homes. 
What  care  we  then  to  waste  our  vigour  on 
The  gates  of  fortressed  cities? 

PHAS. 

But  this  city — 

SPART. 

Is  as  impregnable  as  the  storm-arm'd  sea. 
Why  should  we  talk  of  it?     Great  Mithridates, 
Though  populous  Asia  followed  at  his  back, 
Should,  were  his  frothy  hopes  to  point  at  it, 
Be  laughed  at  for  a  kingly  maniac. 


THE  GLADIATOR  367 

What  should  be  said  of  us,  the  mushroom  warriors 
Of  Roman  dunghills,  should  our  arrogance 
Mad  us  so  far  ?     I  think,  we  do  not  fight 
To  make  the  world  talk  ? 

PHAS. 

I  would  have  you  do  so; 
Fight  now  for  glory;  let  ambition  raise  you 
Among  the  deathless,  now  while  fate  invites  you. 
Rome  has  no  greatness,  but  is  now  employed 
In  foreign  climes :  You  have  well  tried  yourself ; 
And  consuls  vanish,  when  your  trumpet  sounds. 
March  on  the  city,  and  there  swear  to  die, 
Or  live  its  master,  and  you  are  its  master. 
Think,  brother,  think  what  glorious  fame  were  ours, 
As  lasting  as  the  eternal  world,  should  we, 
The  upturned  dregs  of  servitude,  destroy, 
As,  by  the  inviting  fates !     We  may  destroy, 
This  lair  of  lions,  this  den  of  conquerors, 
This  womb  of  heroes,  whose  boastings  fright  the  earth, 
And  whose  ambition  ( — look,  Ambition  1) — chains  it! 

<  SPART. 

This  is  a  wild  and  most  preposterous  hope. 
Even  the  fierce  Hannibal,  with  veteran  troops, 
And  all  the  towns  of  Italy  at  his  feet, 
Save  this  alone,  here  paused  his  hopes. 

PHAS. 

Hope  thou 

T'  excel  the  vaunted  African,  and  dare 
Beyond  his  daring.     Hast  thou  not  a  heart 
Bigger  than  his,  that,  with  a  herd  of  slaves, 
Hast  wrought  as  much  as  all  his  veterans? 


368    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Smiles  heaven  upon  thee  less,  which,  in  an  hour, 
Has,  from  a  dungeon,  raised  thee  to  an  army, 
Still  growing,  still  victorious?     Do  this  deed, 
And  live  for  ever.  > 

SPART. 

Well,  well,  I'll  think  of  it. 
Perhaps    Senona's    there: — Ah,    would    to    heaven, 

Phasarius, 

I  were  with  her  now  and  my  smiling  boy, 
In  Thrace  again,  beside  our  mountain  cot, 
Or  in  those  vales,  where  babbling  Hebrus  tumbles 
Along  his  golden  sands ;  and  dreamt  no  more 
Of  sacks  and  battles. 

PHAS. 

Whilst  this  city  stands, 

This  ne'er  can  be;  for  just  so  long  our  country 
Remains  a  Roman  province.     Tear  it  down, 
And  you  enfranchise  Thrace,  and  half  the  world. 

SPART. 

We'll  think  of  this  again,  when  we  are  stronger, 

And  when  we  have  Senona  sent  to  us. 

Meanwhile  we  must  the  final  effort  make 

To  ransome  her.     <  Did  you  secure  a  guide, 

To  lead  us  through  the  mountains  ?     I  have  seen 

The  camp  most  strongly  guarded,  and  fear  not 

To  trust  it  with  the  trusty  ^Enomaiis. 

When  the  tired  troops  have  slept  an  hour,  I'll  order 

To  bring  them  after  us,  to  see  indeed 

How  we  may  end,  what  Crixus  may  begin, 

Disastrously  for  him,  on  Gellius, 

In  the  confusion  of  the  Consul's  triumph.  > 


THE  GLADIATOR  369 

Pick  me  an  hundred  of  our  swiftest  horses, 
And  have  them  presently  in  wait  for  me. 
I  shall  fight  better,  when  I  know,  each  blow 
Strikes  a  protection  for  my  family. 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  III.    A  room  in  CRASSUS'S  Villa.    Enter 
JULIA  and  FLORUS. 

JUL. 

I  am  glad  to  see  thee.     This  terrific  din 

Of  the  near  battle  made  a  sparrow  of  me. 

I  was  af eard  to  breathe,  <  lest  I  should  swallow 

Some  of  your  horrid  missiles ;  for  I  ran 

Unto  the  housetop,  to  look  on  the  fight. 

But  the  moon  was  more  coward  than  myself, 

And  hid  her  pale  face  in  a  cloud :  so  nothing 

I  saw.     But  I  could  hear  the  brazen  trumps, 

The  conchs  and  cornets,  the  shouts  and  yells  of  fury, 

The  clang  of  arms,  and  whistling  in  the  air 

Of  stones  and  arrows.     But,  come  tell  me  now, 

My  general,  have  you  killed  a  foe  tonight? 

FLOR. 

And  won  a  civic  crown,  by  saving  a  friend. 

JUL. 
That's  good ;  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  > 

FLOR. 

But  I  am  sorry 

To  find  you  here  among  these  fears  and  perils. 

I  would  you  were  in  Rome. 


370     DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

JUL. 

There  is  no  peril. 

Have  you  not  beaten  these  wild  gladiators  ? 
A  shepherd  flying  from  his  pastures,  told  me, 
That  Gellius  had  the  victory,  and  had  taken 
Or  killed  the  insurgent,  bloody  Spartacus. 

FLOR. 

I  know  not  that.     'Tis  true,  that  we  have  beaten 
A  band  of  mad  rogues,  that  assaulted  us; 
And  'tis  believed,  their  general,  Spartacus, 
Is  dead  upon  our  trenches ;  for  whose  body 
Search  is  now  made.     But  one  poor  prisoner, 
<  I  think,  the  only  one  whose  life  was  spared,  > 
Declared  these  troops  to  be  but  a  small  band 
Of  mutinous  runagates,  that  had  left  their  leader, 
Being  thereto  moved  by  their  late  victory 
Over  the  consul  Lentulus. 

JUL. 

What,  Florus! 
A  victory  over  Lentulus  ? 

FLOR. 

'Tis  even  so : 

His  army  has  been  vanquished,  himself  slain 
By  the  late  bondman.     And  those,  who  give  faith 
To  the  assurance  of  our  prisoner, 
Fear  for  our  consul,  should  the  Thracian  march, 
After  his  mutineers,  upon  us  now; 
Our  camp  being  all  a  confused  festival 
Of  drunken  triumph, — half  our  soldiers  scattered 
In  search  of  spoil  and  fugitives. — 


THE  GLADIATOR  371 

SPARTACUS  (within) 

Guard  the  doors  : 
Let  none  go  out. 

FLOR. 

What  voice  is  that  ?     B  y  heaven  , 
We  are  betrayed  ! 
(Enter  SPARTACUS,  PHASARIUS,  and  others. 


SPART. 

<Sold,  lost,  and  dead!>  —  Look  to  the  maiden. 
<What,  flourishing  fool,  >  drop  thy  sword's  point,  or 
die. 

FLOR. 

A  thousand  times,  ere  thou,  malicious  rebel, 
Touch  this  endangered  lady. 

SPART. 

Straw,  I  say  ! 
(He  disarms  Florus.) 
Know  I  not  this  boy's  face?1 

FLOR. 

I  think  thou  should  'st. 

Spare  thou  the  lady,  rich  will  be  her  ransome. 
And  for  myself,  I  know,  thy  deadly  fury 
Grants  never  quarter. 

1  There  are  the  following  notes  in  Bird's  hand,  evidently  in 
answer  to  Forrest's  suggested  cuts. 

"Think  you  had  better  keep  these  expressions  particularly  the 
flourishing  fool  and  straw.  They  express,  in  a  very  lofty  and 
furious  style,  the  contempt  which  such  a  man  as  Spartacus  would 
feel  at  finding  himself  resisted  by  a  younker.  " 

"  The  term  boy's  was  meant  as  a  substitute  for  boyish;  not,  as  if 
asking  the  question  of  others,  the  face  of  this  boy.  " 


372    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


SPART. 


By  the  stripes  not  yet 

Fled  from  mine  outraged  limbs,  thou  art  the  son 
Of  Lentulus  the  scourger ! 

PHAS. 

Ay,  the  same. 

Let  him  atone  his  rascal  father's  sins : 
Scourge  him  to  death. 

FLOR. 

Give  me  a  soldier's  death : 
Let  me  die  by  the  sword.     I  never  scourged  thee. 

SPART. 
Thou !     Miserable  boy ! 

FLOR. 

And  well  thou  knowest, 

Thou  fierce  and  fiendish  man,  this  tongue  of  mine 
Was  oft  thy  intercessor. 

SPART. 

I  do  know, 

One  of  thyblood  did  give  me  to  the  scourge — 
Me,  a  free  son  of  a  free  sire,  and  imaged 
After  the  semblance  of  the  Only  Master — 
Gave  me  to  thongs  and  whips,  as  a  poor  beast, 
Till  I  became  one.     This  I  know;  know  thou, 
From  that  shamed  hour,  when  first  my  body  writhed 
Under  the  merciless  lash,  I  did  devote 


THE  GLADIATOR  373 

The  scourger  and  his  household  to  the  furies, 

To  quick  and  murderous  death.     And  thinkest  thou, 

Thy  whining  kindness  took  away  a  pang? 

Thou  art  the  Roman's  son,  and  thou  shalt  die. 

FLOR. 

Let  it  be  so — 

SPART. 

It  shall  be  so.     Thou  seest, 
Command  and  dignities  have  not  wiped  out 
The  memory  of  wrongs ;  and  Roman  blood, 
Running  in  rivers  ever  at  my  feet, 
Sates  not  the  thirst  for  more ! — Take  him  away ; 
Scourge  him  to  death. 

JUL.  (To  SPART.) 

Thou  horrible  monster,  spare  him, 
And  name  whate'er  thou  wilt  for  ransome. 

SPART. 

Ransome ! 
Drachmas  for  stripes! 

FLOR. 

Beseech  him  not,  fair  Julia. 
Think  of  thyself,  or  let  me  think  for  thee. 

JUL. 

He  never  did  thee  hurt. 

SPART. 

Let  her  be  ta'en  away. 


374   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FLOR. 

Let  her  be  ransomed,  and  for  thine  own  wife. 

SPART. 
Ay,  so  I  will :  'twas  e'en  for  that  I  took  her. 

FLOR. 

Then  may'st  thou  instantly  exchange  them. — 

SPART. 

How! 

FLOR. 

Thy  wife  is  in  the  consul's  camp — 

SPART. 

In  the  consul's  camp? 

FLOR. 

There  driven  by  the  fright  of  her  conductors. 
And  thou  may'st  instant  ransome  her.— 

SPART. 

Ha,  ha! 
Now  does  Jove   smile.     What,   ransome  her?    Ay, 

ransome ; 

But  with  the  steel. — I  can  almost  forgive  thee, 
For  this  good  news. — Praetor,  I  have  thee  now 
In  the  same  trap  thou  set'dst  for  me! — What,  sirrah, 
Ye  have  beaten  my  refractory  lieutenant, 
The  German  Crixus? 

FLOR. 

Ay,  I  thank  the  gods. 


THE  GLADIATOR  375 

SPART. 

And  so  do  I ;  it  wins  me  victory, 
And  puts  the  second  consul  in  my  hands.— 
Antistheus,  see  these  captives  safely  guarded. — 
Brother,  the  troops  must  now  be  nigh  upon  us. — 
Take  thou  the  Thracian  cohorts,  and  in  secret 
Steal  to  the  heights  that  overhang  his  rear, 
Posting  a  strong  guard  on  the  river.     Let  none  'scape, 
And  let  none  live.     Myself  will  force  the  camp, 
And  drive  the  rioting  fools  upon  your  swords. — 
I  say,  spare  none. 

PHAS. 

'Twere  much  too  troublesome 
To  imitate  them,  and  build  crucifixes 
For  the  prisoners. 

SPART. 

Let  not  a  moment's  rashness 
Bring  us  a  limping  victory.     Stand  fast 
Upon  your  post,  and  every  rogue  is  dead.— 
Roman,  thou  shalt  see  how  I'll  ransome  her! 

(Exeunt) 

SCENE  IV.  The  Tent  of  GELLIUS,  the  Consul 
GELLIUS  discovered,  with  SCROPHA,  SENONA  and  her 
child,  and  attendants. 

GEL. 

There  is  no  doubt,  this  foolish  German  lies. 
'Twas  the  main  body  of  the  rebels  surely. 
No  mere  detachment  would  have  impudence 
To  march  upon  a  consul.     Now  this  victory, 


376     DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Which,  on  the  morn,  I'll  follow  up,  will  change 
The  tone  o'  the  angry  Senate,  and  restore  me 
To  my  full  rank,  and,  what  is  better,  send 
The  scheming  Crassus  empty-handed  back. 
This  is  a  man  should  fight  in  the  Velabrum, 
Among  the  cheating  mongers,  and  not  bring 
His  brains  of  a  broker  to  a  glorious  camp. 
This  woman  here,  the  wife  o'  the  Gladiator, 
That  cutthroat  caitiff— 

SENO. 

Why  dost  thou  slander  him? 
Has  he  not  fought  a  consul  ? 

GEL. 

Pr'ythee,  be  silent. 

He's  a  brave  rebel,  and  will  be  renowned. — 
Now,  as  I  said,  with  this  same  woman  here, 
The  Greek-brained  Crassus  did  design  some  trick, 
Some  scurvy  plot  upon  the  Gladiator — 
(Alarums.) 

SCROPH. 
Hark! 

GEL. 

A  device  of  the  rejoicing  drunkards. — 
This  thing  meant  Crassus,  this — 

SCROPH. 

The  clang  increases ! 
(A  great  shout  is  heard.) 


THE  GLADIATOR  377 

GEL. 

The  knaves  are  noisy.— 

(Enter  a  CENTURION,  wounded.} 

CENT. 
Fly  for  your  lives !     The  camp  is  forced — 

GEL. 

What  camp? 

CENT. 

Your  own.     The  Gladiators  are  upon  us: 

We  are  surprised,  and  all  is  lost. 

(Exit.) 

GEL. 

My  armour ! 
What  ho,  my  armour! 

(Exeunt  all  but  SENONA  and  child.) 
Enter  SPARTACUS,  ^ENOMAIIS,  and  Gladiators. 

SPART.1 

Victory!     Ha!  ha! 

Romans  are  sheep — search  every  tent — ah!  Jove! 
I  have  found  ye  wife,  aye,  and  have  ransomed  ye. 
What  did  you  think  I  had  deserted  you? 

1 1  have  followed  the  reading  probably  suggested  by  Forrest. 
The  original  lines,  crossed  out  in  the  MS.,  are: 

41  Victory!  ha,  ha. 

Romans  are  sheep. — Search  every  tent — Ah,  Jove! 
I  have  found  ye,  wife,  and  in  a  noble  hour. 
When  we  met  last,  I  was  a  slave;  and  now, 
In  a  consul's  camp,  I  stand  a  conqueror! 

"(Drop.)" 


378    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Look,  I  have  found  you  in  a  noble  hour : 
When  last  we  met  I  was  a  slave :  and  now 
In  a  Consul's  camp  I  stand  a  conqueror! 

(CURTAIN.) 


END   OF   ACT   III. 


ACT   IV 

<  SCENE  I.1  The  Camp  of  CRASSUS.  Enter 
CRASSUS,  MUMMIUS,  Jovius,  LENTULUS,  BRACCHIUS, 
and  Attendants. 

CRASS. 

And  Gellius  beaten  too?  both  consuls  beaten? 
This  is  some  demigod  that  hath  ta'en  man's  shape, 
To  whip  us  for  our  sins. — Both  consuls  beaten? 
I  would  I  had  those  Macedonian  legions. 

jov. 

Have  them  thou  shalt;  ay,  and  the  Spanish  too: 
The  senate,  in  their  terror,  (for  the  victories 
Of  this  great  savage  now  add  fright  to  shame,) 
Bid  Pompey  and  Lucullus,  with  their  troops, 
Instant  embark  for  Rome. 

CRASS. 

Why  should  they  send 

For  Pompey  too  ? — Perhaps  it  may  be  better. — 
See  that  the  fugitives  from  the  consular  camps 
Be  decimated,  and  so  punished.      The  cowards  should 
Be  slain  by  duplates  rather  than  by  tithes: 
I'll  make  example  of  them. — Jovius, 

1  This  scene  is  struck  out  in  the  MS.  and,  according  to  a  note  in 
Bird's  handwriting,  was  "omitted  in  the  representation. " 

379 


380    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Lay  not  this  consul  near  my  villa  ?     I  would  not 
My  niece  should  come  to  harm ;  and  it  is  horrid 
To  think  her  in  the  hands  of  the  barbarians. 

jov. 
I  am  sorry,  praetor — 

CRASS. 

What,  man,  is  it  so? 

jov. 

A  herdsman,  fled  that  night  from  the  estate, 
Just  on  the  eve  of  battle,  saw  the  house 
Beset  by  numerous  slaves. — 

CRASS. 

The  gods  be  with  her: 

I  loved  her  well. — Sirrah,  where  is  that  woman, 
I  bade  thee  bring  me  ? 


But  on  the  road. 


LENT. 

Not  yet  reached  the  camp, 


CRASS. 

Let  her  be  hastened  hither. 
I  did  intend  to  use  her  as  a  check 
On  the  uxorious  chief.     Now  shall  she  ransome 
My  Julia  from  him. — Where  lies  the  enemy? 

jov. 
He  is  advancing  on  us. 

CRASS. 
What,  advancing? 


THE  GLADIATOR  381 


jov. 

With  countless  multitudes  at  his  heels. — 


Intrench,  intrench. 


CRASS. 

What!  come, 


jov. 

Rather  march  out  to  meet  him. 
Shall  it  be  said,  that  Crassus,  the  lieutenant 
Of  valiant  Sylla,  hid  behind  a  trench, 
When  bondmen  menaced  him  ? 

CRASS. 

Shall  it  be  said, 

Crassus,  the  praetor,  like  a  hair-brained  fool, 
Helped  these  same  bondmen  to  a  victory  ? 
Spear  me  these  cowards;  and  intrench,  I  say. — 
What,  sirrah? 

(Enter  a  Messenger,  who  speaks  with  Jovius.) 

jov. 

Happy  tidings !     Marcus  Lucullus 
Hath  landed  his  army  at  Brundisium; — 

CRASS, 
The  gods  be  thank'd.— 


At  Ostia. 


jov. 
And  legion'd  Pompey  too 


382    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CRASS. 

Still  thanks.     Let  messengers 
Be  sent  o'  the  instant  to  both  generals, 
Praying  them,  as  they  love  the  gods  and  Rome, 
Their  march  to  hasten. 

(Exit  Messenger.) 
Good  centurion, 

I  will  employ  thee  in  a  difficult  office, 
Wherein  thou  may'st  the  state  and  me  do  service. 

jov. 
Let  it  be  honest  then  and  soldier-like. 

CRASS. 

So  it  shall  be.     I'll  have  thee  an  ambassador 

To  this  mad  Thracian,  to  propose  a  ransome 

For  my  unhappy  niece,  if  niece  I  have; 

Or  to  exchange  for  her  his  wife  and  brat, 

Now  in  our  hands.     If  she  be  living,  have  her 

At  any  ransome ;  stick  not  at  the  sum. — 

And  hark  ye,  use  your  eyes  and  wisdom  well. 

Look  me  out,  as  a  soldier,  what  'twould  profit 

A  soldier  to  have  known;  and  if  thou  find'st 

A  man  among  his  officers  to  be  bribed 

To  any  treason  may  advantage  us, 

Make  him  what  gain  thou  wilt. — But  see  thou  bring 

My  Julia  with  thee. — If  thou  find'st  a  man, 

That  may  be  bought,  at  any  price,  to  murder 

The  Thracian,  buy  him  for  that  act. 

jov. 

Not  I: 
No  foul  and  dastard  blows  i'  the  back. 


THE  GLADIATOR  383 

CRASS. 

Ay,  none 

For  honest  enemies ;  but  felon  foes 
E'en  crush  feloniously. — Away:  heaven  speed  thee. 
Kill  we  the  chief,  and  I  will  end  the  war, 
Ere  Pompey  conies  to  share  with  me  the  honour. 

(Exeunt.} 


ACT  IV 

SCENE  I.     The  Camp  of  SPARTACUS.    Enter  SEN- 
ONA,  JULIA,  FLORUS,  and  ^ENOMAIIS. 

SENO. 
Weep  not,  poor  lady.— 

JUL. 

Why  bid'st  thou  me  not  weep? 
Hadst  thou  no  tears,  when  thou  didst  find  thyself 
The  slave  of  strangers?     Yes,  thou  hadst,  although 
In  bond  of  the  merciful,  who  were  never  used 
To  aught  but  gentleness  with  woman.     Yet  me, 
The  lily-cradled  daughter  of  great  nobles, 
Brought  to  the  slavish l  thrall  of  slaves,  exposed 
To  all  their  brutal  cruelty,  thou  bid'st 
To  weep  no  more. 

SENO. 

It  is  thy  fright,  that  conjures 
These  shapes  of  danger.     Thou  art  here  as  safe 
As  woman  may  be  in  a  troubled  camp. 
Thou  art  no  slave;  but,  I  am  sure,  art  held 
To  timely  ransome.     Pray  be  comforted: — 
I  know,  thou  art  safe. 

1  There  is  a  query  in  Bird's  hand, — "Shall  I  substitute  vile, 
odious,  degrading,  or  some  other  word?" 

384 


THE  GLADIATOR  385 

JUL. 

I  have,  I  know,  that  safety 
That  may  be  found  in  den  of  wolves  or  bears. — 
Would  I  had  died  or  e'er  my  fate  had  thrust  me 
Among  these  dreadful  murderers. 

SENO. 

They  are  such 
To  none  my  husband  favours. 

JUL. 

Is  not  he 

As  fierce  and  pitiless  as  the  rest,  who  seeks 
To  venge  his  wrongs  upon  the  innocent  ? 
He  that  has  madly  doomed  that  hapless  captive 
His  father's  crime  in  blood  to  expiate? 

SRNO. 

He  has  not  doomed  him;  nay,  if  he  said  so, 
It  was  in  wrath;  and  he  will  pardon  him. 
The  heart  that  throbs  beneath  his  bloody  mail, 
Can  melt  to  pity  quickly  as  thine  own. 
I  think,  he'll  free  him;  for  thyself,  I  know, 
Thou  art  protected. 

JUL. 

Am  I  from  his  brother, 
The  insolent  Phasarius? — Heard  I  not 
What  claim  that  villain  made  to  me?     Alas, 
Thou  art  a  woman,  and  can  pity  me. 

SENO. 
Thine  ears  deceived  thee;  did  they  not,  ^Enomaiis? 


386   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

,£NO. 

I  think  so,  lady. 

SENO. 

Did  not  this  argument 
Point  to  some  claim  of  war? 


A  bold  proposal 

Made  by  Phasarius,  by  the  chief  denied: 
This  was  their  argument. 

(Enter  SPARTACUS.) 

JUL. 

Alas,  behold 

How  frowns  the  angry  fury  on  his  face  ! 
Bodes  this  no  ill  to  Florus  or  to  me? 

SENO. 

What  is  the  matter,  husband,  that  you  look 
So  sad  and  heavy? 

SPART. 

Sad  and  heavy,  am  I  ?  — 

(Aside.)     And  shall  I,  for  this  face  of  snow  provoke 
A  threatening  ruin  ?     Out  of  foolish  pity 
For  one  that  loves  me  not,  drive  from  my  heart, 
The  heart  that  loves  me  well  ? 

SENO. 

What  say'st  thou,  Spartacus? 


THE  GLADIATOR  387 

SPART. 

(Aside.)     To  save  her  girlish  body  from  the  shame, 
Her  baby  bosom  from  the  pang, — to  rescue 
From  a  short  dream  of  sorrow,  one  young  fool 
Out  of  the  million  millions  of  the  mourning, 
Kill  mine  own  coming  glory  and  the  hopes 
Of  a  wrong'd  world? 

SENO. 
I  fear  me,  thou  art  angry. 

SPART. 

Hark  ye,  my  girl — that  fool  that  trembles  yonder — 

SENO. 

I  pity  her. 

SPART. 

Dost  thou  indeed?    And  art  thou 
Assured  she  is  worth  thy  pity?     Were  the  world 
A  jot  the  worse,  were  she  removed  from  it? 

SENO. 

Alas,  you  will  not  harm  her?     She  has  indeed 
A  kind  and  foolish  heart. 

SPART. 

Has  she  indeed  ? 
Well,  she  shall  to  her  father. 

SENO. 

She  has  none. 


388    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SPART. 

What,  wife,  an  orphan?     Now  the  incensed  heaven 
Smite  my  hard  heart !    A  poor  and  feeble  child 
Left  struggling  fatherless  in  the  world,  and  I 
Consent  to  wrong  her! 

SENO. 

What  is 't  you  say? 

SPART. 

Not  I, 

Though  forty  thousand  unjust  brothers  storm'd. — 
One  day  mine  own  child  will  be  fatherless.— 
We'll  ransome  her. 

SENO. 

I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so. 

SPART.  (To  JULIA.) 

What,  foolish  maid,  why  dost  thou  weep?     Come, 

smile, 

I'll  send  thee  to  the  praetor — and  the  boy  too.— 
I  think  'twould  break  her  heart  to  kill  him.— 

(Enter  PHASARIUS.) 

Brother- 
Brother,  I  hope  thou  hast  forgot  this  folly. 

PHAS. 

I  claim  the  captive. 


But  not  these  twain. 


SPART. 

Thou  shalt  have  a  thousand; 


THE  GLADIATOR  389 

PHAS. 

I  care  not  for  the  boy. 

The  girl  is  mine, — captured  by  mine  own  hands; 
Therefore  mine  own. 

FLOR. 

Base  caitiff ! 

SPART. 

Sirrah,  begone. — 

PHAS. 

Deny  me  her,  and,  by  the  fates,  thou  art 
No  longer  brother  of  mine.     'Twas  I  that  helped  thee 
To  this  high  station ;  and  the  troops  thou  rulest, 
Are  but  my  lending ;  for  that  hour  I  leave  thee, 
They  leave  thee  to. 

SPART. 

Come, — look  me  in  the  face, 
And  let  me  see  how  bad  desires  have  changed  thee. 

PHAS. 
I  claim  the  captive. 

SPART. 

Set  thine  eye  on  her: 
Lo  you,  she  weeps,  and  she  is  fatherless. 
Thou  wouldst  not  harm  an  orphan?     What,  I  say, 
Art  thou,  whom  I  have  carried  in  my  arms 
To  mountain-tops,  to  worship  the  great  God, 
Art  thou  a  man  to  plot  a  wrong  and  sorrow 
(And  thou  a  man!)  against  a  feeble  orphan? 
Wilt  thou  now  ask  her? 


390    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PHAS. 

Ay. 

SPART. 

Thou  art  a  changeling ! 
My  father  ne'er  begot  so  base  a  heart. — 
Brother,  I  do  conjure  thee,  for  I  love  thee, 
Forget  this  thing. 

PHAS. 

Farewell. 

SPART. 

Thou  wilt  not  go? 

PHAS. 

Ay,  by  great  Jove,  I  will.     Play  thou  the  tyrant 
On  those  that  follow  thee. 

SPART. 

My  younger  brother : — 
Nay,  I'll  not  call  thee  such,— but  a  hot  fool 
And  heartless  enemy. — 

PHAS. 

Call  what  thou  wilt : 

I  am  a  man  not  to  be  mock'd  and  wrong'd, 
Nor  flouted  in  my  counsels.     I  did  ask  you, 
Now  that  you  had  the  wind  of  the  fooled  praetor, 
Now  when  rich  Rome  is  emptied  by  her  levies, 
Now  when  the  eager  troops  cry  all,  for  Rome, 
To  march  upon  it,  ere  the  joining  armies 
Of  Pompey  and  Lucullus  should  prevent  you. 


THE  GLADIATOR  39* 

This  I  did  ask,  and  this  you  did  deny, 
Though,  by  a  former  promise,  pledged  thereto. 

SPART. 

I  promised  not. 

PHAS. 

By  heaven,  you  did — when  stronger. 
This  you  refuse;  and  when,  forgiving  this, 
I  ask  my  captive,  you  deny  me  her, 
With  many  a  sharp  and  contumelious  word, 
Such  as  is  fitter  for  a  dog  than  me. 

SPART. 

Forgive  me,  if  my  anger  used  such  shame; 
I  knew  not  what  I  said. 

PHAS. 

March  then  to  Rome. 

SPART. 

It  cannot  be.     We  should  but  set  us  down 
Under  her  walls,  where  the  three  generals, 
Ere  we  could  force  the  gates,  would  hedge  us  in. 
We  cannot  stand  against  them  all  even  here; 
But,  when  in  Sicily,  are  invincible. 

PHAS. 
Rome,  or  the  captive:  no  more  Sicily. 

SPART. 

To  Sicily: 

There,  by  the  ocean  fenced,  rouse  up  and  gather 

The  remnants  of  those  tribes  by  Rome  destroyed, 


392   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Invited  to  their  vengeance.     Then  will  come, 

Arm'd  with  retributive  and  murderous  hate, 

The  sons  of  fiery  Afric, — Carthaginians 

Out  of  their  caves,  Numidians  from  their  deserts; 

The  Gaul,  the  Spaniard,  the  Sardinian; 

The  hordes  of  Thessaly,  Thrace,  and  Macedon, 

And  swarming  Asia ; — all  at  last  assembled 

In  vengeful  union  'gainst  this  hell  of  Rome. 

Then  may  we  crush,  but  now  we  crush  ourselves. 

Let  us  to  Sicily. 

PHAS. 
Those  that  will.     Farewell. 

SPART. 

Will  you  desert  me  ? 

PHAS. 

I  did  think  thee  meant 
For  the  most  godlike  enterprise  of  earth : 
Thou  fail'st.     Farewell;  protect  thyself. 


Remember  Crixus. 


SPART. 

Mad  boy, 


PHAS. 

And  his  thousand  Germans ! 

I  go  with  Gauls  and  Thracians,  and  fifty  thousand. — 
A  Roman  girl  was  worth  this  coil ! — Farewell : 
Learn  to  be  juster. 

(Exity 


THE  GLADIATOR  393 


SPART. 


Gone!    Alas,  alas, 

Am  I  unjust  ?     I  did  not  think  my  brother 
Could  e'er  desert  me. 


Spartacus  — 


SPART. 


^Enomaiis, 
Dost  thou  remain  ?     Why  dost  thou  stay  with  me  ? 


For  that  I  know  thee  wiser  than  thy  brother. 
I  will  stand,  fight,  or  die  with  thee.     But  look; 
If  thou  speak  not,  the  army  to  a  man, 
Will  follow  this  young  madman. 

SPART. 

Mad  and  ungrateful  all  !    Will  none  remain  ? 

SEND. 
Beseech  you,  speak  with  them,  my  honoured  husband. 

SPART. 

And  he  endanger  'd  thee  too  !  By  the  heavens, 
I'll  ne'er  forgive  him.  —  Nay,  go  to  your  couch. 
I'll  speak  with  them.  They  will  not  all  desert  me. 

(Exeunt.) 


394   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SCENE  II.    TheCampofCRASSVS.    Enter  CRASSUS 
and  LENTULUS. 

CRASS. 

Thy  son  was  kill'd  then ?     I  am  sorry  for  him. 
I  heard,  he  bore  him  soldier-like,  and  I, 
Upon  this  promise,  did  intend  him  favour. 

LENT. 

I  know  not  that  he  certainly  was  killed ; 
But,  I  thank  Jove,  he  did  not  fly  his  post. 

Enter  BRACCHIUS. 


CRASS. 
What  of  the  enemy?  does  he  still  approach? 

BRAC. 
No,  he  is  flying. 

LENT. 

Flying!     thou  art  mad. 

BRAC. 

That  may  be,  for  my  slaves  have  ruined  me. 
Why  should  brains  stick  where  gold  will  not  ? 

CRASS. 

Come,  sirrah, 

What  didst  thou  mean  by  saying  the  foe  fled  ? 
< How  flies  he? 


THE  GLADIATOR  395 

BRAC. 

As  a  hound,  that  having  coursed 
A  stinking  brock,  upon  a  sudden  turns, 
To  chase  a  noble  stag. — Ourselves  the  badger, 
And  Rome  the  worthier  quarry. 

CRASS. 

Tedious  fool,  > 
What  dost  thou  mean  ? 

BRAC. 

That  the  fierce  Gladiators 
Instead  of  dinging  us,  as  seemed  designed, 
Are  now  'Upon  the  highway  to  the  city. 

CRASS. 

To  Rome? 

BRAC. 

Yes,  flying  to  Rome. 

CRASS. 

Presumptuous  fools ! 

<  Now  may  we  build  a  forest  of  crucifixes. 
Bid  the  men  cast  away  their  picks,  and  arm.  > 
We'll  after  them. 

BRAC. 

I  think  there's  some  division 

Among  the  leaders;  for  the  herds  afoot, 

March  in  disorder. 


396   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CRASS. 

Separated  !    Jove, 

I  thank  thee  for  this  boon.  —  Another  Crixus! 
To  arms,  I  say.     Send  out  the  cavalry, 
<To  gain  their  flanks  and  front,  letting  them  get 
Beyond  the  leader's  camp.  >  —  This  is  a  triumph.  — 
To  arms,  I  say. 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE   III.     The    Camp  of  SPARTACUS.     Enter 
SPARTACUS  and 


SPART. 

Seven  thousand  true?    A  handful,  but  enough, 
Being  staunch  and  prudent,  for  the  enterprise.— 
Desert  me!     Well,  well,  well.  —  Among  the  hills 
Are  many  paths  that  may  be  safely  trod  ; 
Whereby  we'll  gain  the  sea,  and  so  pass  o'er 
To  safer  Sicily.  —  Perhaps  I  spoke 
Too  roughly,  —  but  no  matter.  —  Did  you  send 
To  hire  the  shipping  of  those  pirates?     Well.  — 
And  all  prepared  to  march  at  nightfall?  —  vEnomaiis, 
Do  you  not  think  they'll  beat  him  ? 


I  doubt  it  not; 
Phasarius  being  a  soldier,  but  no  leader. 

<  SPART. 
An  excellent  leader,  but  that  he  is  rash. 


That  is  the  misery.     He  will  fight  you  hotly 
An  army  of  lions  ;  but  a  troop  of  foxes 


THE  GLADIATOR  397 

May  easily  beat  him.     Now  the  praetor's  brain 
Is  all  o'  the  fox's  colour.  > 

SPART. 

Well,  I  care  not  : 

We  will  to  Rhegium.  —  Think  you,  ^Enomaiis, 
I  might  not,  while  the  praetor  steals  upon  him, 
Steal  on  the  praetor,  and  so  save  the  army? 
What  say'st  thou? 


Hang  them,  no.     This  brings  Lucullus 
On  our  seven  thousand.     Let  the  mutineers 
Look  to  themselves. 

SPART. 

Right,  very  right,  right,  ^Enomaiis. 
Let  them  look  to  themselves.     He  did  desert  me; 
My  father's  son  deserted  me,  and  left  me 
Circled  by  foes.     I  say,  'tis  very  right. 
<  He  shall  no  help  from  me;  not  though  they  beat 

him 
An  hundred  times;  no,  no,  no  help  from  me.  > 


Lo  you,  a  messenger! 


SPART. 
From  Phasarius!  — 


Perhaps  he  is  sorry.  — 

Enter  Jovius. 


398     DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Chief,  an  embassy 
From  Crassus. 

SPART. 

And  what  would  Crassus  with  the  Gladiator, 
The  poor  base  slave,  and  fugitive,  Spartacus? 
Speak,  Roman :  wherefore  does  thy  master  send 
Thy  gray  hairs  to  the  cutthroat's  camp? 

JOV. 

Brave  rebel, — 

SPART. 

Why  that's  a  better  name  than  a  rogue  or  bondman; 
But,  in  this  camp,  I  am  call'd  general. 

jov. 

Brave  general ;  for,  though  a  rogue  and  bondman, 
As  you  have  said,  I'll  still  allow  you  general, 
As  he  that  beats  a  consul  surely  is, — 

SPART. 

Say  two, — two  consuls;  and  to  that  e'en  add 
A  proconsul,  three  praetors,  and  some  generals. 

jov. 

Why  'tis  no  more  than  true. — Are  you  a  Thracian  ? 

SPART. 

Ay. 

JOV. 

There  is  something  in  the  air  of  Thrace 
Breeds  valour  up  as  rank  as  grass.     'Tis  pity 
You  are  a  barbarian. 


THE  GLADIATOR  399 

SPART. 

Wherefore  ? 

jov. 

Had  you  been  born 
A  Roman,  you  had  won  by  this  a  triumph. 

SPART. 

I  thank  the  gods  I  am  barbarian; 

For  I  can  better  teach  the  grace-begot 

And  heaven-supported  masters  of  the  earth, 

How  a  mere  dweller  of  a  desert  rock 

Can  bow  their  crown'd  heads  to  his  chariot  wheels. 

Man  is  heaven's  work,  and  beggar's  brats  may  'herit 

A  soul  to  mount  them  up  the  steeps  of  fortune, 

With  regal  necks  to  be  their  stepping-blocks. — 

But  corne,  what  is  thy  message? 

jov. 

Julia,  niece 
O'  the  praetor,  is  thy  captive. 

SPART. 

Ay. 
JOV. 

For  whom 

Is  offered  in  exchange  thy  wife,  Senona, 
And  thy  young  boy. 


SPART. 


Tell  thou  the  praetor,  Roman, 
The  Thracian's  wife  is  ransomed. 


400   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

jov. 

How  is  that? 

SPART. 

What  ho,  Senona! 

(SENONA  appears  with  the  child  at  a  tent  door.} 

Lo,  she  stands  before  you, 
Ransomed,  and  by  the  steel,  from  out  the  camp 
Of  slaughtered  Gellius. 

(Exit  SENONA.) 

jov. 

This  is  sorcery! — 
But  name  a  ransome  for  the  general's  niece. 

SPART. 

Have  I  not  now  the  praetor  on  the  hip  ? 

He  would,  in  his  extremity,  have  made 

My  wife  his  buckler  of  defence;  perhaps 

Have  doomed  her  to  the  scourge!     But  this  is  Roman. 

Now  the  barbarian  is  instructed.     Look, 

I  hold  the  praetor  by  the  heart;  and  he 

Shall  feel  how  tightly  grip  barbarian  fingers. 

jov. 

Men  do  not  war  on  women.     Name  her  ransome. 

SPART. 

Men  do  not  war  on  women!     Look  you: 
One  day  I  clomb  upon  the  ridgy  top 
Of  the  cloud-piercing  Haemus,  where,  among 
The  eagles  and  the  thunders,  from  that  height, 
I  look'd  upon  the  world — or,  far  as  where, 


THE  GLADIATOR  401 

Wrestling  with  storms,  the  gloomy  Euxine  chafed 
On  his  recoiling  shores ;  and  where  dim  Adria 
In  her  blue  bosom  quenched  the  fiery  sphere. 
Between  those  surges  lay  a  land,  might  once 
Have  served  for  paradise,  but  Rome  had  made  it 
A  Tartarus. — In  my  green  youth  I  look'd 
From  the  same  frosty  peak,  where  now  I  stood, 
And  then  beheld  the  glory  of  those  lands, 
Where  peace  was  tinkling  on  the  shepherd's  bell 
And  singing  with  the  reapers ;  <  or  beneath 
The  shade  of  thatch  eaves,  smiled  with  grey  old  men, 
And  with  their  children  laughed  along  the  green.  > 
Since  that  glad  day,  Rome's  conquerors  had  past 
With  withering  armies  there,  and  all  was  changed: 
Peace  had  departed ;  howling  war  was  there, 
Cheered  on  by  Roman  hunters:  then,  methought, 
Even  as  I  looked  upon  the  altered  scene, 
Groans  echoed  through  the  valleys,  through  which  ran 
Rivers  of  blood,  like  smoking  Phlegethons; 
Fires  flashed  from  burning  villages,  and  famine 
Shriek'd  in  the  empty  cornfields.    Women  and  children, 
Robb'd  of  their  sires  and  husbands,  left  to  starve — 
These  were  the  dwellers  of  the  land ! — Say 'st  thou 
Rome  wars  not  then  on  women  ? 

JOV. 

This  is  not  to  the  matter. 

SPART. 

Now,  by  Jove, 

It  is.     These  things  do  Romans.     But  the  earth 
Is  sick  of  conquerors.     There  is  not  a  man, 
Not  Roman,  but  is  Rome's  extremest  foe; 
26 


402    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

And  such  am  I,  sworn  from  that  hour  I  saw 
These  sights  of  horror,  while  the  gods  support  me, 
To  wreak  on  Rome  such  havock  as  Rome  wreaks, 
Carnage  and  devastation,  wo  and  ruin. 
Why  should  I  ransome,  when  I  swear  to  slay? — 
Begone:  this  is  my  answer! 

<jov. 

With  your  leave 

This  prattling  scares  no  Romans ;  and  these  threats 
Come  weakly  from  a  chief  of  mutineers. 

SPART. 

Of  mutineers  ? 

jov. 

Ay,  marry,  'tis  well  known, 

Your  cutthroats  have  deserted  you.    Content  you, 
Crassus  will  punish  the  foul  traitors. 

SPART. 

Crassus ! 

JOV. 

Ay,  Crassus. — Hercules,  how  men  will  talk! 
Wreak  wo  on  Rome! — I  tell  you,  your  lieutenant 
Will  hang  upon  a  cross  before  the  morrow. 
So  name  your  ransome,  while  'tis  offered  you. 

SPART. 

Begone,  I  say. 

(Exit  Jovius.) 
Alas,  my  ^nomaiis, 


THE  GLADIATOR  403 

Should  we  not  strike  now?     Now  while  we  might  fall 
Upon  their  rear,  and  take  them  by  surprise? 


.ENO. 

Let  them  be  punished,  castigated  well, 
And  they'll  return  to  wisdom  and  obedience. 

SPART. 

Right,  right.     Let  them  be  punished,  hack'd  to  the 

bones : 

This  will  speak  better  than  my  words.     Prepare 
For  Rhegium.     He'll  return  to  us  tomorrow. 

(Exeunt.)  > 

END   OF   ACT   IV. 


ACT  V 

SCENE  I.     The  Peninsula  of  RHEGIUM.     The  Camp 
of  the  Gladiators.    Enter  SPARTACUS  and 


SPART. 

Routed  and  cut  to  pieces  !  —  Said  I  not  ? 
Did  I  not  tell  them?  —  Utterly  destroyed! 
Scattered  like  chaff  !  —  Now  by  the  eternal  fates, 
They  did  provoke  high  heaven,  deserting  me.  — 
How  many  slain  ? 

JENO. 

Indeed  it  is  not  known. 

SPART. 

Many,  I'm  glad;  I  should  be  very  glad: 
Did  I  not  lead  them  ever  on  to  victory  ? 
And  did  they  not  forsake  me  ?     Wretched  fools, 
This  was  my  vengeance,  yea,  my  best  of  vengeance, 
To  leave  them  to  themselves,  that  Roman  praetors 
Might  whip  them  for  me.     Art  thou  not  rejoiced? 
Art  thou  not,  ^Enomaiis,  glad  of  this? 
Glad,  very  glad  ? 


I  shall  be,  when  I  see 
Half  of  them  back  again. 

404 


THE  GLADIATOR  405 

SPART. 

I'll  decimate  them: 

Even  as  the  Romans  punish,  so  I'll  punish.  — 
Ruin  me  all  these  grand  and  glorious  hopes  ? 
Nay  they  were  certainties.  —  An  excellent  army, 
That  might  have  fought  with  Pompey,  broke  and 

ruined 
By  their  mad  mutiny  !     An  excellent  army  - 

/ENO. 
Indeed,  an  excellent. 

SPART. 

Foolish  ^Enomaiis, 

Why  did'st  thou  stay  me,  when  I  would  have  saved 
them? 


Had  this  been  well?     Had  their  ingratitude 
Deserved  it  of  thee  ? 

SPART. 

Ay,  ingratitude. 
Did  I  oppress  them  ?     Did  I  tyrannise  ?  > 

.ENO. 

'Tis  rumoured  that  Phasarius  fell. 

SPART. 

My  brother, 

My  foolish  brother  —  why  did  he  part  from  me?  — 
Nay,  I'll  not  mourn  him. 


406    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


This  evil  news  must  now 
Hasten  our  embarkation.     The  pirate  ships 
Already  are  launching  from  the  shore. 

SPART. 

Why  now 

You  are  too  fast.     Bid  them  be  beached  again.  — 
<  Alas,  that  foolish  boy  !     We'll  rest  awhile, 
And  see  what  fugitives  may  come  to  us.  > 
Art  sure  Phasarius  was  slain  ?  —  the  pride 
Of  his  dead  mother's  heart;  and,  I  do  know, 
Though  prone  to  anger,  of  a  loving  spirit.— 
We'll  rest  awhile  here  on  this  promontory. 


E,ach  moment  has  a  peril.     For  these  pirates 
They  are  most  treacherous  hounds,  and  may  set  sail 
Without  us  ;  and  the  praetor,  thou  know'st  well, 
Is  trenching  us  in  on  this  peninsula. 

SPART. 

What  care  I  for  the  praetor  and  his  trenches  ? 
<  This  is  a  boy's  trick,  and  a  boy  might  meet  it.  > 
Trenches  to  stop  a  Thracian  !  —  Look  you  now 
What  drooping  slave  is  that?     By  all  the  gods, 
It  is  my  brother!  —  But  I'll  not  be  glad. 
Lo  you,  how  humbled,  spiritless  he  looks  ! 
Where  are  his  troops  ? 

(Enter  PHASARIUS.) 

Sirrah,  why  comest  thou  here? 
Didst  thou  not  part  from  me,  and  take  mine  army? 


THE  GLADIATOR  407 

Did'st  thou  not  teach  my  followers  mutiny, 

And  lead  them  to  destruction?     Thou  whipp'd  fool, 

Why  comest  thou  here? 

PHAS. 

To  ask  thy  pardon,  and  to  die. 

SPART. 

Couldst  thou  not  die  with  those  thou  led'st  to  death, 
That  men,  who  after  should  have  called  thee  madman, 
Might  not  have  called  thee  craven  ? 

PHAS. 

I  am  no  craven ; 
A  wretch,  I  grant  you,  but  no  craven. 

SPART. 

Where  are  thy  troops?    that  throng'd  and  valiant 

army 
Thou  stol'dst  from  me? 


I  am  alone  of  all. 


PHAS. 

With  Pluto.     Why  demand  me? 


SPART. 

Most  wretched  man, 

Thou  hast  murder'd  fifty  thousand  men,  destroyed 
Thy  brother  and  thy  country,  and  all  hope 
Of  the  earth's  disenthralment. 

PHAS. 

I  have  ruined 
My  brother,  that's  enough. 


408    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SPART. 

Ay,  look,  behold; 

But  yestermorn,  I  was  a  conqueror, 
On  the  high  verge  and  pinnacle  of  renown ; 
Today  a  skulking,  trembling,  despised  man, 
Thrust  in  a  pit.     Whose  traitorous  hand  was  it, 
Pluck 'd  me  from  my  high  seat,  and  sunk  so  low  ? 
Who  did  this  thing,  this  foul,  felonious  thing? 

PHAS. 

Myself,  that  was  thy  brother. 

SPART. 

Ay,  that  was ! 

PHAS. 

Why  shouldst  thou  stab  me  with   thy  words?     O 

brother, 

Strike  me  with  thy  sharp  sword,  but  speak  no  more : 
Give  me  to  punishment,  or  drive  me  forth 
To  die  by  Romans ;  but  upbraid  no  more. 

SPART. 

Shall  I  forgive  him?     Look,  he  is  penitent. 

&NO. 

But  he  has  lost  them  all. 

SPART. 

Ay,  so  he  has. — 

Ask'st  thou  for  pardon,  when  thou  hast  slain  all? 
Away !     thou  didst  discard  me  from  thy  heart : 
I  banish  thee  from  mine. 


THE  GLADIATOR  409 

PHAS. 

It  is  but  just. 

Why  should  I  live,  when  I  have  ruined  thee  ? 
I  should  have  died  before.     Farewell. 

SPART. 

Come  back : 

I  will  forgive  thee:  nay,  I  have. — O  brother, 
Why  didst  thou  do  this  wrong?     But  I'll  forget  it. — 
Let  the  ships  now  be  launched,  now,  ^Enomaiis; 
Now  cross  to  Sicily. 

(Exit  ^ENOMAIIS.) 
With  these  fifty  thousand — 
But  I've  forgot  it. — What,  were  all  destroyed? 

PHAS. 

All,  all. 

SPART. 

A  disciplined  army! — But  no  matter.— 
All  slain  upon  the  field? 

PHAS. 

Six  thousand  wretches 
Yielded  them  prisoners  to  the  praetor. 

SPART. 

Well, 

He  took  six  thousand  prisoners.     These  will  now 
Suffer  a  double  wretchedness. 


They  will  not. 


PHAS. 

Never  fear  it : 


410   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SPART. 

How  is  that,  Phasarius? 
Did  not  the  praetor,  in  his  proclamations, 
Threat  us  with  bondmen's  deaths  by  crucifixion? 

PHAS. 

And  he  will  keep  his  word — nay,  he  has  kept  it. 

SPART. 

What! 

PHAS. 

Are  men  beasts,  that  life  should  count  no  more 
Than  a  beast's  sob? 

SPART. 

Thou  fill'st  my  soul  with  terror. 
Are  they  condemned?     All? 

PHAS. 

Executed. 

SPART. 

Horror ! 
Six  thousand  men,  and  crucified! 

PHAS. 

Crucified. 

I  saw  a  sight  last  night,  that  turned  my  brain, 
And  set  my  comrade  mad.     The  Roman  highway 
Is,  each  side,  lined  with  crosses,  and  on  each  cross 
Is  nailed  a  gladiator. — Well,  'twas  night, 
When,  with  a  single  follower,  I  did  creep 
Through  the  trenched  army  to  that  road,  and  saw 


THE  GLADIATOR  411 

The  executed  multitude  uplifted 

Upon  the  horrid  engines.     Many  lived  : 

Some  moaned  and  writhed  in  stupid  agony  ; 

Some  howled,  and  prayed  for  death,  and  cursed  the 

gods; 

Some  turned  to  lunatics,  and  laughed  at  horror; 
And  some  with  fierce  and  hellish  strength,  had  torn 
Their  arms  free  from  the  beams,  and  so  had  died, 
Grasping,  headlong,  at  air.     And,  oh  the  yells, 
That  rose  upon  the  gusty  sighs  of  night, 
And  babbled  hideously  along  the  skies, 
As  they  were  fill'd  with  murder! 

SPART. 

Say  no  more: 

This  is  too  dreadful  for  man's  ear.     I  swear 
For  this  to  make  Rome  howl.     What,  ^Enomaiis. 

(Reenter 
Are  the  ships  all  afloat? 


And  gone. 
SPART. 


What,  gone? 


These  same  perfidious  pirates,  with  their  hire, 
Have  set  their  sails,  and  fled. 

SPART. 

The  ocean  god 

Meet  them  with  hurricanes,  sink  their  ships,  and  feed 
Sea-monsters  with  their  corses! 


412    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


All  is  finished: 
This  is  the  fruit  of  mercy  for  deserters. 

SPART. 

Be  that  forgot. 

.ENO. 

What  now  remains  for  us, 
But  to  sit  down  and  die? 

SPART. 

I'll  tell  thee,  what: 
To  fight  the  praetor. 


Though  his  troops  outnumber 
Ten  times  our  own ! 

SPART. 

Ay ;  our  despair  will  make  us 
Each  ten  times  stronger  than  his  foe.     Fill  up 
This  schoolboy  ditch  with  disregarded  plunder, 
And  when  the  watchdogs  sleep,  like  wolves,  steal  on 

them 

And  take  them  by  the  throat.     I  have  no  fear, 
But  we  shall  find  a  pathway  through  their  camp. 
Then  to  Tarentum;  there  we'll  find  us  ships. 
Or,  if  that  fail,  with  a  despairing  fury, 
Turn  upon  Rome,  and  perish  there. 

(Enter  SENONA,  with  the  child.) 

What  now? 

Com'st  thou  to  mourn  o'er  our  mishaps,  Senona? 
Be  not  dismayed :     I'll  find  thee  safety  yet. 


THE  GLADIATOR  413 

SENO. 

Thou  wouldst  conceal  these  newer  perils  from  me; 
But  well  I  know,  that  every  hour  now  brings 
A  menacing  cloud  about  thee. 

SPART. 

Clouds,  ay,  clouds: 

A  cloud  is  on  my  path,  but  my  ambition 
Sees  glory  in't :  as  travellers  who  stand 
On  mountains,  view  upon  some  neighbouring  peak, 
Among  the  mists,  a  figure  of  themselves, 
Traced  in  sublimer  characters ;  so  I 
Here  see  the  vapory  image  of  myself, 
Distant  and  dim,  but  giantlike — I'll  make 
These  perils  glories. 

SENO. 

And  the  ships  have  left  thee? 

SPART. 

Thou  art  a  soldier's  wife,  and  wilt  not  tremble 
To  share  his  danger.     Look,  through  yonder  camp 
Our  path  lies. 

SENO. 
I  will  walk  it  by  thy  side. 

SPART. 

Not  so;  for  though  unharmed  by  steel,  the  sight 
Of  the  near  fray  would  kill  thee.     I  have  discovered 
A  path  almost  unguarded ;  where,  whilst  I 
Assault  the  Roman  in  his  sleep,  thyself 
And  my  war-cradled  boy,  with  my  Phasarius 
To  guard  thee,  shall  in  safety  pass,  and  join  me 
After  the  battle. 


414    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


SENO. 

Why  not  lead  your  army 
By  that  unguarded  path? 

SPART. 

Trust  me,  dear  wife, 

I'll  make  it  such  for  thee,  but  cannot  have  it 
Safe  for  an  army.     The  surprised  distraction 
Of  the  attack  will  call  the  guards  away. 
This  is  the  safest. 

SENO. 

Let  me  go  with  thee. 
I  do  not  fear  the  horrors  of  the  storm. 

SPART. 

It  cannot  be.     What,  brother — 

PHAS. 

Let  some  one  else 

Be  made  her  guard;  while  I,  in  fight,  find  vengeance, 
And  reparation  of  my  faults. 

SPART. 

Wilt  thou 
Refuse  me  this,  Phasarius? 

PHAS. 

Am  not  I 

A  rash  and  witless  fool  ?     Trust  not  to  me 
What  thou  so  valuest. 


THE  GLADIATOR  415 

SENO. 

I  beseech  you,  hear  him. 
Let  me  not  leave  you,  Spartacus :  my  heart 
Is  full  of  dismal  and  of  ominous  fear, 
If  I  do  leave  you  now,  I  leave  for  ever. 
If  I  must  die,  let  me  die  where  thou  art. 

SPART. 

Why  talk'st  thou  now  of  death?     I  say,  I'll  make 
This  path  most  safe  for  thee.     How  could  I  fight, 
Or  play  the  leader  in  a  bloody  storm, 
With  thy  pale  visage  ever  in  my  eye? 

PHAS. 

I  do  beseech  you,  make  not  me  her  guard. 

SPART. 

It  must  be  so.     And  hear  me  now,  Phasarius; 
I  put  into  thy  hands  more  than  my  soul : — 
See,  my  dear  wife,  and  here  my  innocent  boy. — 
These  are  the  very  jewels  of  my  heart. 
Protect  them  for  me.     Be  not  rash;  steal  softly, 
With  the  small  faithful  troop  I'll  send  with  thee, 
Through  glens  and  woods;  and  when   the  alarm  is 

sounded, 

March  fast  but  wisely.     For  thy  life,  and  mine, 
Avoid  all  contest,  shouldst  thou  meet  a  foe; 
Nay,  though  thou  know'st  thou  hast  advantage,  fight 

not. 

Join  me,  with  these  in  safety,  and  assure  me 
No  man  has  drawn  his  sword. — And  now  farewell. 


416    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Farewell,  Senona:  I  pray  you  do  not  speak.  — 
Thou  art  very  safe.     Farewell. 

(Exeunt  SENONA,  child,  and  PHASARIUS.) 


He  is  too  rash. 


SPART. 


Rash,  had  I  given  him  a  command  in  battle; 
But  will  not  be  with  them.  —  Rouse  up  the  troops. 
Fill  up  the  ditch  with  baggage,  as  I  told  thee.  — 
<  I'll  see  that  all  be  schooled  for  this  assault.  > 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  II.  Before  the  tent  of  CRASSUS.  Enter 
CRASSUS,  MUMMIUS,  Jovius,  LENTULUS  and  BRAC- 
CHIUS. 

CRASS. 

Now  I  lament  me,  on  this  overthrow 

Of  the  chief  army  of  the  enemy, 

I  prayed  for  Pompey  and  Lucullus.     If 

I  end  not  instant,  by  another  blow, 

The  war  I  have  so  maimed,  comes  me  a  colleague 

To  chouse  me  of  my  triumphs. 

jov. 

You  must  be  quick  then. 

The  dawn  will  show  you  Pompey  by  your  side; 
Or  rather,  dashing  with  a  Roman  scorn, 
Amongst  the  ruffians  you  have  trapp'd. 


THE  GLADIATOR  417 

CRASS. 

I  think, 

Ourselves  may  do  it. — And  this  hell-dog  holds 
The  girl  to  doom? 

jov. 

He  says,  he  is  instructed 
By  your  fore-thought  intentions  with  his  spouse. 

CRASS. 

But  dost  thou  think  he'll  slay  her? 

jov. 

Not  while  he 
May  purchase  mercy  with  her. 

CRASS. 

Shall  I  take  her 

Out  of  his  camp  by  force?  or  send  thee  back, 
To  offer  mercy  and  receive  submission  ? 

jov. 

Propose  him  life  and  liberty,  and  make  him 
A  Roman  citizen. 

CRASS. 

What,  a  rebel  slave! 

jov. 

In  these  rough,  rotten  times,  we  do  not  scruple 
To  raise  our  rogues  to  honour.     Why  then  blush, 
To  anoint  a  slave,  that's  capable  and  honest? 

27 


418    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

The  genius  of  this  Thracian,  had  it  been 
In  honourable  trust  display'd,  had  quell'd 
A  score  of  barbarous  nations;  and  may  yet, 
Make  but  the  man  a  Roman. 

CRASS. 

We  will  make  him 
A  captive  first. — Were  my  poor  Julia  free! — 

(Loud  alarums.) 
What  is  the  matter? 

JOV. 

The  rats  are  out !     By  Jove, 
The  slaves  have  pass'd  the  trenches,  and  assault  us ! 

CRASS. 
Thou  art  mad!     They  dare  not — What,  to  arms,  to 

arms! 
Nay,  if  they  will,  let  them  into  the  camp, 

But  let  not  out. — To  arms,  to  arms! 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  III.     Another  part  of  the  Roman  Camp. 
Enter  CRASSUS,  Jovius,  MUMMIUS,  and  LENTULUS. 

CRASS. 

Mischiefs  and  plagues,  and  slavish  stripes  disgrace 
These  shameless  cowards !     What,  ope  their  ranks,  and 

give 
A  path  to  these  few  madmen !     Let  them  scape  us ! 

JOV. 

Nay,  they  are  gone,  that's  certain, — but  will  drop 
Into  the  jaws  of  Pompey. 


THE  GLADIATOR  419 

CRASS. 

Bid  the  legions 
Follow  them. 

jov. 

When  the  day  breaks;  but  not  now. 

CRASS. 

Shall  I  let  Pompey  take  them,  and  have  Rome 
Laugh  at  my  shame  ?     Have  Pompey  join  the  scorners, 
And  mock  me  too  ?     Hie  thee  away,  good  Jovius; 
Follow  the  Thracian;  offer  pardon,  freedom, 
Whate'er  thou  wilt.     Do  but  delay  his  march  : 
Let  him  not  come  near  Pompey  —  Quick,  away! 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  IV.     The  Camp  of  SPARTACUS,  among  the 
hills.    Enter  SPARTACUS  and 


SPART. 

Was  not  this  well?     When  desperate  men  contend, 
The  brave  will  fly  from  them.     To  fight  for  life, 
Fights  surest  for  a  victory.     Fought  we  well  ? 
I  would  not  give  these  seven  thousand  poor  rogues, 
For  a  whole  herd  of  angry  Gauls.     We'll  win 
The  highway  to  Tarentum  yet.  —  Lieutenant, 
Should  they  not  now  be  here  ? 


Who? 

SPART. 

Who  !     Phasarius 
And  his  care-chosen  guard  —  my  brother  and  my  wife. 


420   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

&NO. 

They  tread  a  rough  and  tangled  path. 

SPART. 

Tis  true; 

And  finding  there  more  guards  than  I  had  word  of, 
Their  caution  journeys  them  the  slower.     I 
Am  almost  grieved,  I  brought  them  not  with  me.  — 
How  fare  the  captives?     Bring  me  to  Tarentum, 
I'll  send  that  girl  unransomed  to  the  praetor.— 
Would  they  were  here!  —  Bring  in  the  prisoner, 
And  find  how  march  the  coming  generals. 

(BRACCHIUS  is  brought  in,  guarded.) 


This  fellow  was  the  master  of  thy  brother. 
Question  him,  and  then  hang  him,  for  a  baser, 
More  heartless  master  never  yet  struck  slave. 

SPART. 

I  am  sick  of  blood.  —  Is  not  the  sun  yet  up  ? 

If  they  be  seen  —  but  I'll  not  think  of  that.  — 

Be  not  afeard:  hadst  thou  been  worth  a  blow, 

I  had  not  spared  thee.     Speak,  and  truly  speak, 

Or  thou  shalt  fat  the  kites  :     When  looks  the  praetor 

For  Pompey  and  his  Spanish  troops  ? 

BRAC. 

He  looks 
Not  for,  but  at  him. 

SPART. 

Wretch 


THE  GLADIATOR  421 

BRAC. 

And  so  may'st  them, 
Yonder  among  the  heights  upon  thy  left. 

SPART. 

Wretch,  if  thou  mock  me,  I  will  strike  thee  dead. 
Know  I  not  well  the  praetor's  craft?     These  eagles 
That  spread  their  golden  pinions  on  the  hills, 
Were  wing'd  by  Crassus  thither,  to  affright  me. 
Are  they  not  Crassus's  standards  ?     Own  me  that, 
Or  look  tonight  to  sup  in  Acheron. 

BRAC. 

To  sup  on  earth,  then,  I'll  agree  to  this; 
But  I  shall  lie. 

SPART. 

Rogue,  answer  me  again: 
Are  those  troops  Pompey's. 

BRAC. 

Ay. 

SPART. 

The  gods  forbid! 

They  are  in  motion  too !     Now  I  begin 
To  feel  my  desolation,  and  despair. 
What,  ^Enomaiis,  send  me  out  a  scout 
To  view  those  hill-perched  foes,  and  quick  prepare 
The  army  for  the  march.     And  my  poor  wife! 
Why  did  I  trust  her  with  Phasarius? 
<  Send  out  a  cunning  guide  to  hunt  the  path.  > 

(Exit  /ENOMAIIS.) 


422    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Roman,  if  thou  speak  false,  I'll  have  thee  slain. — 
Where  rests  Lucullus  ? 

BRAC. 

In  no  place  he  rests, 
Save  nightly  on  the  highroad  from  Tarentum. 

<SPART. 

Villain,  thou  liest !     The  gods  have  not  so  left  me. 
I  say,  thou  speak'st  not  true. 

BRAC. 

Well,  I  speak  false; 

But  notwithstanding,  he  is  on  that  road. — 
These  are  the  bloodiest  cutthroats! — > 

SPART. 

Now,  out  on  me, 

My  heart  is  full  of  fear.     The  praetor  on  my  rear, 
Lucullus,  Pompey  on  my  front  and  left, 
And  naught  but  howling  seas  upon  my  right ! 
Seven  thousand  men  against  an  hundred  thousand ! 
If  Crassus  love  the  girl — He  fears  disgrace — 
'Tis  not  infeasible — unless,  alas, 
My  wife,  perchance,  be  fain  into  his  hands; 
Then  can  the  maiden  buy  me  naught  but  her. 

(Reenter  ^ENOMAIIS,  with  Jovius.) 

JENO. 

The  Roman  praetor 
Sends  thee  again  an  envoy. 


THE  GLADIATOR  423 

SPART. 

Speak,  centurion; 
What  word  sends  Crassus? 

jov. 

For  the  Roman  lady, 
A  princely  ransome;  for  thyself,  an  offer 
Of  mercy,  pardon,  Roman  denization, 
And  martial  honour  and  command ;  provided — 

SPART. 

Ay,  provided! 

jov. 

Thou  instantly,  ere  Pompey  leave  the  hills, 

Surrender  up  these  malefactious  slaves 

To    whips    and    crosses.     Therefore,    most    valiant 

Thracian, 

Put  by  the  frenzy,  that  would  fight  against 
Three  circling  armies,  and  accept  this  boon 
Generous  and  great. 

SPART. 

I  am  unfortunate, 

Thou  know'st  that  well;  but  not  being  Roman  yet, 
I  scorn  the  foul  condition,  that  makes  me 
To  my  true  friends  a  traitor.     Give  them  freedom, 
And  they  lay  down  their  arms;  but  talk  of  crosses, 
And  they  have  yet  the  arms  that  cut  a  path 
Through  the  proud  praetor's  camp. 

jov. 

Why  shouldst  thou  care, 
Thou,  who  hast  such  a  Roman  soul,  for  these 


424   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Vile  runagate  rogues,  who,  at  an  opportunity, 
Thee  would  betray  as  freely  as  their  masters  ? 
Let  them  be  hanged,  and  be  thou  made  a  Roman. 
Perhaps  thy  word  may  save  the  least  offending; 
But  let  the  scum  be  punished. 


SPART. 

They  shall  die, 


Like  soldiers,  on  the  field,  or  live  in  freedom. 


But  hearken,  Roman: 

I  know  the  praetor,  that  he  loves  his  niece, 

But  honour  more;  I  know,  if  Pompey  strike 

At  me  one  blow,  the  honour  all  is  his, 

And  nothing  left  for  Crassus,  but  comparison 

Betwixt  what  Pompey  does,  and  what  he  could  not. 

He  will  not  then  have  Pompey  strike  me,  and 

He  would  have  back  his  niece.     While  I  lie  here 

On  this  impregnable  and  forted  hill, 

Pompey  approaches  and  sits  down  beside  him. 

Now  he'll  consent  himself  to  lose  the  honour 

O'  the  hunted  gladiator's  overthrow, 

So  Pompey  wins  it  not. 

jov. 

That  may  be  true, 

For  Crassus  loves  not  Pompey.     But  on  that 
What  project  found  you? 

SPART. 

This:     Let  him  but  wink, 
While  I  steal  darkly  to  Tarentum,  there 
T'  embark  my  army. 


THE  GLADIATOR  425 

jov. 

*  Hah! 

SPART. 

I'll  find  a  way 

To  cozen  Pompey  and  pass  by  Lucullus, 
Provided  he  not  follow  at  my  heels. 
Gage  me  but  this,  and  he  shall  have  his  niece 
Unransomed  back;  deny  me,  and  by  Pluto, 
Pompey  alone  shall  gain  the  laurel. 

jov. 

Jove! 

This  is  a  mad  proposal.     Help  you  fly! 
Will  you  surrender,  or  be  cut  to  pieces  ? 

SPART. 

Bring  forth  the  captives. 

(JULIA  and  FLORUS  are  brought  in.} 

Lo,  I'll  march  tonight: 
If  Crassus  follow  me,  the  girl  shall  die. 

jov. 

Art  thou  a  savage? 

SPART. 

Ay;  or  if  you  will, 

A  beast,  whose  nature  not  being  fierce,  the  hunters 
Have  toil'd  and  goaded  into  fury.    Nature 
Makes  fewer  rogues,  than  misery.   But  yesterday, 
I  had  saved  that  maiden's  blood,  at  cost  of  mine; 


426   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Now,  with  a  cool  ferocity,  I  doom  her 
To  perish  like  a  thing  abhorred,  whene'er 
The  praetor  bids  me. 

JUL. 

Out,  alas,  alas! 

Didst  thou  not  swear  thou  wouldst  not  harm  my  life  ? 
Thou  didst,  unto  thy  wife. 

SPART. 

Well,  speak  not  of  it.— 
She  is  surely  taken. — Roman,  listen  to  me: 
South  of  thy  camp  there  liest  a  secret  path, 
Where,  for  a  certain  reason,  I  did  send 
A  party,  to  escape  the  fears  of  conflict. 

Have  they  been  captured  ? 

i 

jov. 

I  know  not,  but  think  so. 
Who  were  they? 

SPART. 

Well,  they  are  not  taken  then  ? 

jov. 

I'll  not  say  that.     A  double  guard  was  sent, 
Under  your  one  time  master,  Lentulus, 
Last  night,  to  watch  that  path. 

SPART. 

I  have  some  prisoners, 
I  would  exchange  for  them — Look,  all  but  her. 

jov. 
But  who  were  these? 


THE  GLADIATOR  427 

SPART. 

Some  women  and  children.     Yes, 
Some  helpless  fools,  not  fit  to  look  on  battle.  — 
Not  that  I  care  for  them;  but  I'll  exchange  them. 

jov. 

Some  women  and  children? 

SPART. 

Sirrah,  wilt  thou  have  it? 

Why  'twas  my  wife  then,  and  my  child.     If  they 
Be  captured,  I'll  exchange  them  for  my  captives. 
Crassus  shall  have  his  niece  too.     Nay,  I'll  send  her, 
Without  the  exchange,  provided  Crassus  swear 
To  give  them  freedom,  and  send  back  to  Thrace. 
Let  him  swear  this  :  let  them  to  Thrace,  I  say,  — 
Let  them  be  safe,  and  I  can  die.  —  (Alarums.) 


Look,  general! 
We  are  attacked! 

SPART. 

By  heavens,  a  troop  of  horse 

Rushing  against  our  hill  !     Why  these  are  madmen  ?  — 
Soft  you,  they  chase  some  mounted  fugitive; 
Nay,  he  has  cleared  them  —  Look,  man  look!     O  gods, 
Do  I  not  know  him?  — 

jov. 

For  this  proposed  exchange—; 

SPART. 

Look,  look  !     'Tis  he  !    They  are  lost  ! 


428    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


His  horse  has  fallen  : 
He  is  bloody  too. 

SPART. 
But  where  are  they? 

(Enter  PHASARIUS,  wounded.} 

What,  brother,  brother, 
Speak,  speak.  —  Where  are  they?     Ah! 

PHAS. 

My  brother  ! 

SPART. 

Speak! 

Dost  thou  not  know  me?     By  thy  soul,  I  charge  thee, 
Speak  to  me;  tell  me  of  my  love,  my  boy! 
Where  hast  thou  left  them? 

PHAS. 

Strike  me  to  the  heart: 

I  have  robbed  thee,  brother,  of  much  more  than  life; 
And  all  the  blood  these  gaping  wounds  have  left, 
Will  not  repay  thee. 

SPART. 

Art  thou  mad  ? 

I  ask  thee  of  my  wife,  my  boy,  my  loves  ! 
And  thou  dost  prate  to  me  of  wounds  and  blood  !  — 
Speak! 

PHAS. 

I  can  better  speak  than  thou  canst  hear.  — 
Why  madest  thou  me  their  escort?     Why,  0  fool  ! 


THE  GLADIATOR  429 

Thou  should'st  have  known  that  I  would  quickly  lead 

them 

Through  the  first  perils  that  invited  me ; 
And  where  a  Roman  throat  was  to  be  cut, 
Would  drag  them  to  the  hideous  spectacle. 

SPART. 

But  thou  did'st  bear  them  off!     Come,  say  it,  brother; 
Thou  wert  imprudent,  but  still  kind  and  true. 
I'll  not  be  angry — come,  I  know  thou  wert  worsted, 
Thy  troops  cut  off — but  thou  hast  saved  them,  brother ! 

PHAS. 

I  would  have  done  it,  let  my  wounds  speak  for  me. 

SPART. 

They  are  captives  then?     O  traitor! — my  poor  wife, 
And  my  blithe  boy ! 


The  boy— 


PHAS. 
The  troops  were  cut  to  pieces; 


SPART. 

What  of  him? 


PHAS. 

Cried  for  mercy  to 


A  Roman  soldier — 

SPART. 

Who  spared  him! 


PHAS. 

Struck  him  to  the  earth. 


430    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SPART. 

God!  —  And  his  mother? 

PHAS. 

She  sprang  upon  the  throat  of  the  black  monster  — 
Ask  me  no  more  —  I  faint. 

SPART. 

My  wife!  my  wife! 

Let  furies  lash  thee  into  consciousness. 
My  wife,  I  say!    She  sprang  upon  his  throat; 
What  then? 

PHAS. 

He  slew  her  —  but  I  clove  him  to  the  nave. 
I  could  not  save,  but  with  my  best  avenged. 

(Falls.) 

SPART. 

There  are  no  gods  in  heaven; 

Pity  has  fled,  and  human  rage  reigns  there.  — 

Wretch,  doth  the  earth  still  hold  thee?     Murderer, 

Most  traitorous,  foul,  unnatural  murderer, 

If  the  warm  blood  of  thy  thrice-martyred  victims 

Reach  not  thy  soul,  and  strike  it  dead  within  thee, 

My  sword  shall  sacrifice  thee  to  their  fury.  — 


Hold,  hold!     Thou  wilt  not  strike  him?     Look,  he 
dies! 

(PHASARIUS  dies.) 


THE  GLADIATOR  431 

SPART. 

What,  is  he  dead?    All  dead?     and  I  alone 

Upon  the  flinty  earth  ?     No  wife,  no  child, 

[No  brother]    All  slain  by  Romans  ?     Yes,  by  Romans. 

— Look, 

I  will  have  vengeance,  fierce  and  bloody  vengeance, 
Upon  the  praetor's  blood,  upon  the  praetor's. — 
Thou  grey  and  hoary  wretch, — for  being  Roman, 
A  wretch  thou  art — I'll  send  back  to  the  praetor 
His  niece  a  corse,  and  thou  shalt  carry  her. — 
What  ho,  my  Guards ! 

(Enter  Guards.) 

jov. 

Savage  fiend,  forbear; 
Shed  not  the  blood  o'  the  innocent. 

SPART. 

<  Foolish  man,  > 

Was  not  Senona's  innocent,  and  my  child's? 
Did  they  e'er  harm  a  Roman? — Blood  for  blood, 
And  life  for  life,  and  vengeance  on  the  praetor! 

FLOR. 

Unhappy  Spartacus,  mar  not  thy  glory 
With  this  unnatural  and  unjust  deed. 
Let  my  head  fall  for  her's. 

SPART. 

Thy  head  and  her's — 
<  Fools,  ye  are  Romans,  and  shall  die. 

jov. 

Forbear —  > 


432    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SPART. 

Take  them  away — 

JUL. 

Now  may  the  heavens  forgive  thee. 

SPART. 

Off,  foolish  girl ;  there  is  no  pity  left : 

My  heart  now  thirsts  for  blood,  and  blood  will  have. 

JUL. 

I  have  your  promise — 

SPART. 

Breath,  that  I  revoke. 

JUL. 

I  have  Senona's;  pity  me  for  her, 
For  she  did  love  me;  pity  for  your  child, 
Whom  I  have  nestled  in  my  arms,  till  it 
Did  love  me  too,  and  thou,  whilst  looking  on, 
Didst  swear  no  harm  should  ever  reach  to  me. 
Yes,  for  thy  babe  and  wife,  thou  didst  swear  this; 
And  while  thou  think 'st  of  them,  thou  canst  not  kill 
me. 

SPART. 

Well,  thou  art  saved. 

jov. 

Wilt  thou,  unlucky  chief, 

Now  claim  the  praetor's  mercy?     Let  thy  people 
Return  to  bonds,  and  have  their  lives. 


THE  GLADIATOR  433 

SPART. 

These  twain 

Shall  go  with  you ;  the  rest  is  for  my  vengeance. 
To  show  thee  that  the  Thracian  still  defies, — 
Even  in  his  hour  of  misery  and  despair, — 
Still  cries  for  vengeance,  still  derides  the  mercy 
Of  the  accursed  Roman,  thou  shalt  see 
I  court  his  fury. — Hang  this  Roman  cutthroat 
Upon  a  cross,  and  set  it  where  the  Romans 
May  see  him  perish. 

(BRACCHIUS  is  taken  out;  and  the  body  of  PHASARIUS.) 

jov. 

This  will  steel  all  hearts, 
And  change  all  pity  into  murderous  hate. 

SPART. 

It  is  for  that  I  hang  him  to  the  tree : 

There  shall  no  life  be  spared  in  fight  today. 

Look — let  the  grooms  there  kill  my  horse. — 'Tis  done: 

There  shall  no  flight  be  known;  nothing  but  death. 

Begone,  centurion  and  prisoners.     Begone  or  perish. 

<FLOR. 

I  thought  thee  cruel,  but  I  find  thee  kind. 
Spare  that  man,  and  accept  the  praetor's  pardon. 

SPART. 

Begone,  thou  foolish  boy,  while  yet  thou  may'st. 

JUL. 

Shall  I  not  thank  thee,  Thracian,  for  my  life? 
28 


434    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SPART. 

Begone,  or  die,  —  and  all  the  hearted  griefs, 

That  rack  more  bitterly  than  death,  go  with  you, 

And  reach  your  abhorred  country:  May  the  gods, 

Who  have  seen  Rome  fill  the  earth  with  wo  and  death, 

Bring  worse  than  wo  and  death  on  Rome;  light  up 

The  fires  of  civil  war  and  anarchy, 

Curse  her  with  kings,  imperial  torturers; 

And  while  these  rend  her  bowels,  bring  the  hosts 

Of  Northern  savages,  to  slay,  and  feed 

Upon  her  festering  fatness;  till  the  earth, 

Shall  know,  as  it  has  known  no  land  so  great, 

No  land  so  curst  as  miserable  Rome!  — 

Begone,  or  perish.  > 

(Exeunt  Jovius,  JULIA  and  FLORUS.) 

Let  the  troops  array. 
And  all  that  would  not  die  upon  the  cross, 
Slaying  their  horses,  to  the  plain  descend, 
And  die  in  battle. 


You  will  not  fight  today  ? 

SPART. 

This  day,  this  hour,  this  minute,  fight  and  die. 
Why  should  we  struggle  longer,  in  this  dream 
Of  life,  which  is  a  mocking  lunacy, 
With  ever  sunshine  playing  far  ahead, 
But  thunderbolts  about  us?     Fight  I  say. 
There  is  no  Orcus  blacker  than  the  hell 
That  life  breeds  in  the  heart.  > 


THE  GLADIATOR  435 


Alas,  dear  general, 

You  are  not  fit  for  battle. 

SPART. 

Fit  to  make 

The  Roman  mothers  howl.  —  Spare  not  one  life; 
Shed  blood,  and  laugh;  and  if  ye  meet  a  woman 
Hiding  her  babe  in  her  scared  bosom,  slay  her, 
Slay  both.  —  O  ^Enomaiis,  but  to  think 
How  lone  I  stand  now  on  this  pitiless  earth  !  — 
Had  I  not  parted  with  them!  —  O  ye  heavens, 
Could  ye  look  on  and  see  the  merciless  steel 
Struck  at  their  sinless  hearts  ? 


Alas,  alas, 
Give  not  this  way  to  grief. 

SPART. 

I  will  not,  brother; 
My  grief  is  blackened  into  scowling  vengeance.  > 


Pray  you,  come  to  your  tent. 

SFART. 

To  tents  no  more; 

I  couch  no  more  but  on  the  corse-strown  plain,— 
Draw  out  the  troops— I  say,  upon  the  ground, 
Pillow'd  on  death;  thus  shall  my  slumbers  be. 
Come,  battle,  battle. 

(Exeunt.) 


436    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SCENE  V.    The  Camp  of  GRASSES.   Enter  CRASSUS, 
MUMMIUS,  Jovius,  LENTULUS,  FLORUS,  etc.   Alarums. 

CRASS. 

Thus  ends  rebellious  rage  in  lunacy; 

Despair  hath  set  the  gladiator  mad. 

Look,  how  with  wild  and  impotent  wrath,  he  rushes 

Upon  our  ready  spearmen! — Lentulus, 

I  am  sorry  thou  didst  slay  his  family. 

LENT. 

Nay,  'twas  not  I.     Perhaps,  /  am  not  sorry; 
They  were  my  slaves,  punish'd  as  fugitives. 

CRASS. 

Detach  the  third  rank  and  the  cavalry, 

On  all  sides  to  surround  them.     Take  them  prisoners : 

This  soldier  death  befits  them  not.     Ten  thousand 

Greek  drachmae  to  the  man  that  brings  alive 

The  leader  Spartacus. 

(Exit  LENTULUS.) 

<jov. 

That  ne'er  will  be. 

He  slew  his  horse,  and  thus  rejecting  flight, 
His  life  devoted  to  the  infernal  gods. 

CRASS. 

A  valiant  madman! — Had  he  held  my  girl — 
Nay,  but  I  should  have  storm'd  his  mountain  camp. 
Look,  moves  not  Pompey  from  the  hills  ?  What,  friends, 
Shall  we  stand  staring  at  this  handful  foes, 
Till  Pompey  comes  to  help  us  ?     To  the  front, 
Away,  to  the  front!  (Exeunt.)  > 


THE  GLADIATOR  437 

SCENE    VI.     Another   part   of    the   same.     Enter 
SPARTACUS,  ^ENOMAIIS,  and  others. 

SPART. 

Leave  slaying  in  the  ranks,  and  rush  with  me 
Even  to  the  forum  and  praetorium, 
To  strike  the  officers. 


See,  the  troops  of  Pompey, 
Are  following  on  our  rear  ! 

SPART. 

What  care  I  for  the  rear?     I  see  alone 
The  inviting  vengeance  beck'ning  to  the  front, 
Where  flows  the  blood  that  Rome  may  bitterest  mourn. 
Let  me  beside  the  praetor.     Mark,  no  prisoners; 
Kill,  kill,  kill  all!     There's  nothing  now  but  blood 
Can  give  me  joy.     Now  can  I  tell  how  gore 
Inspires  the  thirsty  tiger,  and  gives  strength 
Unto  the  fainting  wolf.  —  No  prisoners  ! 
On  to  the  general  !  > 

(Enter  LENTULUS,  with  others.) 

LENT. 

Lo,  the  bloody  chief! 
Now  yield  thee,  villain. 

SPART. 

Murder-spotted  fiend, 

Thou  led'st  the  band  that  slew  my  wife  and  boy  ! 
Kill,  kill,  kill  all! 

(He  kills  LENTULUS,  and  exit  with  the  rest  fighting.) 


438   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SCENE    VII.     The   pr&torium.     Enter    CRASSUS, 
Jovius,  JULIA,  etc. 

CRASS. 
Get  thee  away;  thou  wilt  be  slain. 

JUL. 

I  fear  not : 

Let  me  look  on  the  battle,  and  perhaps 
Return  the  gift  of  life  to  Spartacus. 

CRASS. 

Pr'ythee,  retire.     This  man  has  won  more  honour. 
Than  even  the  braggart  Pompey ;  for  all  ages 
Shall  own  there  needed  two  united  armies 
To  quell  him,  yea,  two  Roman  armies. 
What  now  ?     Why  fliest  thou  ? 

(Enter  FLORUS.) 

FLOR. 

He  has  broken  through 

The  second  rank.     Give  me  more  troops,  and  fresh, 
To  venge  my  father's  death. 

CRASS. 

Nay,  tarry  here, 

And  mark,  how  like  the  timbers  of  a  ship, 
Crushed  in  the  mighty  seas,  the  sundered  wrecks 
Of  this  rebellion  vanish  from  our  eyes. 

SPART. 
(Within.)     On  to  the  general! 


THE  GLADIATOR  439 

CRASS. 

What  is  that  cry? 

This  is  a  victory,  but  Pompey  shares  it. — 
What  rout  is  this  here  at  our  tents?     By  heaven, 
My  guards  are  reeling  in  confusion ! — Lo, 
What  man  is  this,  unbuckler'd  and  unhelm'd, 
Gored  with  a  thousand  deaths,  that  waves  so  wildly. 
A  broken  weapon? 

(Enter  SPARTACUS,  wounded,  etc.) 

SPART. 

All  is  lost;  but  cry 
Victory!     On:     I'll  reach  the  general. 

CRASS. 

Smite  him!     'tis  Spartacus. 

(SPARTACUS  is  wounded  by  several.) 

SPART. 

Hah!     Victory! 

Crassus,  thou  diest!     I  know  thee  very  well. — 
Romans    are    straws. — No    prisoners. — Naught    but 

blood. 
Why  should  there  be  night  now  ? — 

(He  falls.) 

JUL. 

O  dear  uncle,  strike  not. 
Let  him  be  spared. — He  gave  me  life. — Alas, 
He  dies,  he  dies ! 


440   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SPART. 

Well — never  heed  the  tempest- 
There  are  green  valleys  in  our  mountains  yet. — 
Set  forth  the  sails. — We'll  be  in  Thrace  anon. — 

(Die*.) 

<CRASS. 

Thy  bark  is  wreck'd,  but  nobly  did  she  buffet 
These  waves  of  war,  and  grandly  lies  at  last, 
A  stranded  ruin  on  this  fatal  shore. 
Let  him  have  burial;  not  as  a  base  bondman, 
But  as  a  chief  enfranchised  and  ennobled. 
If  we  denied  him  honour  while  he  lived, 
Justice  shall  carve  it  on  his  monument.  > 

(Dead  March,  etc.     Curtain.} 


THE    END. 


ORALLOOSSA 

The  following  text  of  Oralloossa  is  based  on  a 
complete  autograph  manuscript  in  the  Library 
of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania.  The  Bird 
papers  contain  another  complete  rough  draft  of 
the  play  in  the  author's  hand.  The  text  has  also 
been  collated  with  the  " skeleton  script"1  in  the 
Edwin  Forrest  Home  at  Holmesburg,  Pennsyl 
vania.  Additions  found  in  the  acting  version 
have  been  indicated  by  square  brackets;  and 
deletions  of  word,  line,  or  scene  have  been  marked 
thus:<> 

Oralloossa  was  finished  in  February,  1832.  It 
was  first  produced  October  10,  1832,  at  the  Arch 
Street  Theater,  Philadelphia,  Edwin  Forrest  play 
ing  the  chief  part,  for  whom  it  was  written  as 
Bird's  third  prize  play. 

1  "Skeleton  script"  is  an  actor's  term  for  a  manuscript  that 
omits  the  part  of  the  protagonist.  The  Holmesburg  MS.  gives 
only  cues  from  the  speeches  of  Oralloossa;  cuts  in  that  part  have 
accordingly  not  been  indicated. 


441 


ORALLOOSSA 

SON   OF  THE   INCAS 

A  TRAGEDY 

PHILADELPHIA,  FEBRUARY,   1832 


443 


ORALLOOSSA 
PERSONS  REPRESENTED 

FRANCISCO  PIZARRO,  Viceroy  of  Peru. 

FRANCISCO  <DE>  ALCANTARA,  his  maternal  uncle. 

CARVAHAL,  a  Chamberlain. 

DIEGO  DE  ALMAGRO,  son  of  ALMAGRO  the  Conqueror. 

CHRISTOVAL,  his  Cousin  1 

SOTELA  >•    Friends  of  Almagro. 

JUAN,  and  others  ) 

VACA  DE  CASTRO,  a  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Royal  Audience , 

afterwards  Viceroy. 
A  Friar,  Gentlemen,  Soldiers,  &c. 
MANCO,  Inca  of  Peru. 
ORALLOOSSA,   his  nephew,   son   of  ATAHUALPA,   and 

rightful  Inca. 

Peruvian  Chiefs  and  Soldiers. 
OOALLIE,  a  Coy  a,  or  Daughter  of  the  Incas,  sister  of 

ORALLOOSSA. 

A  Spanish  female  Attendant,  &c. 
SCENE.     Lima,  and  the  neighbouring  Country. l 

1  The  acting  version  adds: 
ist  Peruvian  Chief. 
2d  Peruvian  Chief. 
Gonzalo  De  Cordova,  an  Almagrist. 


ORALLOOSSA 
ACT  I 

SCENE  I,    A  hall  in  the  VICEREGAL  PALACE.    Enter 
ALCANTARA  and  DE  CASTRO. 

DE  CASTRO. 

You  tell  me  strange  things.     By  Saint  Anthony, 

This  glorious  region,  which,  when  first  I  left  it, 

<With  treasures  and  despatches  for  old  Spain,  > 

Seemed  in  mine,  eyes  the  proper  paradise, 

Your  crazy  quarrels  have  transformed  to  hell : 

Your  leaders  turn'd  to  enemies — those  Conquerors, 

Whose  deeds  of  fame  had  set  the  world  agape, 

Now  changed  to  currish  combatants, — Almagro, 

<For  so  the  winged  story  flies  to  Spain,  > 

Dead  by  Pizarro's  hands ;  his  followers 

Leagued  'gainst  Pizarro  in  hot  insurrection ; 

The  pagans  rising  from  their  servitude, 

And  smiting  both — Now,  by  my  loyalty, 

These  things  will  bring  your  great  ones  to  disgrace, 

Those  that  they  bring  not  to  the  block. 

ALC. 

Great  sir, 

The  true  are  safe.     You  have  not  yet  been  told, 
What  plots,  and  treasons,  and  rebellious  war 

445 


446    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Against  our  Viceroy,  and,  through  him,  our  king, 
Begot  these  grievous  troubles.     How  Almagro 
Turned  a  malicious  traitor,  and  so  won 
A  traitor's  death,  shall  be  hereafter  rendered 
In  full  to  you, — if  rightly  rumour  speaks  you, 
And  your  authority. 

DE  CAST. 

And  what  says  rumour 

Of  a  poor  Judge  o'  th'  Audience?     <Sir,  you  stare 
With  an  obsequious  wonder,  that  would  raise  me 
Into  more  high  and  proud  authority 
Than  that  I  bear.  > 

ALC. 

It  has  been  whispered,  senor, 
You  bring  a  patent,  that  will  seat  you  in 
The  Chair  o'  the  Viceroy. 

DE  CAST. 

Sir,  a  Judge — appointed 
To  aid  your  ruler,  not  to  supersede  him ; 
<  To  judge  of  present  troubles,  not  to  move  him 
By  questioning  of  those  already  past;> 
To  quell  those  spirits  that  aim  at  hateful  rule, 
Since,  gorged  with  treasure,  their  ambition  points 
A  loftier  path  than  that  their  avarice  trod. 

ALC. 

These  have  been  quelled,  and  by  the  Viceroy's  arm. 
'Tis  true,  some  spirits  of  Almagro 's  faction 
Still  vex  us,  but  not  fright, — some  desperadoes, 
That  would  make  head  around  Almagro 's  son, 
But  that  our  eye  restrains  them. 


ORALLOOSSA  447 

DECAST. 

But   the    Indians, — 
Their  mountain  risings? 

ALC. 

Sir,  a  fabrication 

Of  the  Almagrists,  (So  the  Viceroy  notes  me;) 
They'll  smart  for  it — a  knavish  stratagem, 
To  fright  our  war  worn  Governor  from  the  ease 
Of  his  rich  palace,  to  the  dangerous  toil 
Of  mountain  marches;  where,  instead  of  foes, 
Headed  by  their  dead  master,  Oralloossa, 
He  finds  our  slaves  submissive  and  contented. 

DE  CAST. 

But  wherefore  spake  they  of  this  Oralloossa, 
Whose  name,  me  thought,  made  armed  veterans  shake, 
And  even  their  leaders  show  a  face  of  terror  ? 

ALC. 

Because  they  knew,  the  sudden  resurrection 
Of  this  dead  savage  would  more  convulse  the  land 
Than  spouting  volcano ;  and  more  quickly  lead 
Pizarro  forth  than  even  the  Inca  Manco, 
With  all  his  armies;  and  thus  give  them  scope 
For  mischief  in  his  absence.     For  this  knave 
Was  son  to  the  hang'd  Inca,  Atahualpa, 
And  crowned  his  successor;  and,  in  a  reign 
Of  some  few  months,  when  he  raised  up  the  signal 
Of  murder  and  rebellion,  proved  himself 
Valiant,  and  bold,  and  wise  beyond  his  nation. 
<  Millions  of  brown  barbarians  join'd  his  standard, 
And  fear  beset  us  in  our  citadels : 


448    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Scarce  could  our  strongest  garrisons  resist  him; > 
And,  with  his  war- word  ringing  in  our  ears, 
Extermination  for  the  Whites,  he  rush'd 
Like  a  swoll'n  torrent,  roaring  from  the  hills, 
Upon  our  fear-throng'd  city.     At  that  moment, 
When  all  looked  but  for  death,  a  mystery 
Ended  his  course  of  marvels;  the  red  meteor 
Rose,  glared  and  vanish 'd — Oralloossa  fell — 
No  man  knew  how;  but,  it  was  much  suspected, 
Foully  cut  off  by  his  ambitious  uncle, 
The  present  Inca.     The  danger  died  with  him : 
Manco  had  not  the  affections  of  his  people. 
Some  still  are  here  who  speak  of  Oralloossa, 
And  nod  their  heads  o'er  his  unfathomed  fate, 
And  doubt  his  death;  and  on  that  doubt,  Almagro 
Built  up  his  vain  device. 

DE  CAST. 

'Tis  a  strange  story. 

ORALLOOSSA 

( Within.)  Ha,  ha !  O  brave !     Another  moon  or  two ! 

DE    CAST. 

What  voice  i.c  that  ? 

ALC. 

'Tis  Pedro's,  the  Peruvian, 
Pizarro's  favourite  and  most  loving  slave; 
<As  strange  a  man  as  one  e'er  met  withal.  > 
He  has  grown  mad  to  learn  our  Spanish  arts, 
Is  an  excellent  and  exemplary  Christian, 
And  hates  his  countrymen  for  their  ignorance. 


ORALLOOSSA  449 

He  has  learned  to  forge  out  iron  into  blades, 
And  has  a  pistol  of  his  workmanship: 
He  writes  and  reads,  curbs  in  the  boldest  steed, 
Tilts  like  a  hero,  trains  Pizarro's  guard; 
Is  a  most  cunning  spy,  a  snake  in  craft — 
A  treacherous  foe,  but  ever  constant  friend; 
And  hath  a  marvellous  subtle  wit.     His  cunning 
Did  more  than  other's  bravery,  to  subdue 
The  hot  Almagro. 

ORALLOOSSA 

( Within)     Brave !     Brave  !— 

How  now,  Pedro  ? 

ALC. 

(Enter  ORALLOOSSA,  as  PEDRO,  with  a  firelock.) 
What  means  this  triumph  ? 

ORALL. 

Honourable  lord ! 

Grant  me  your  gracious  pardon:  I  must  laugh! 
Who  would  have  thought  poor  Pedro's  poorer  skill 
Should  venture  on  the  white  man's  godlike  craft, 
And  make  that  weapon,  which  makes  Spaniards  gods ! 

ALC. 

Thank  the  saints,   who  have  drawn  you  from  the 

darkness 

Of  heathen  ignorance,  to  enlighten  you; 
And  thank  your  noble  master,  who  permits  you, 
Against  all  policy,  to  be  thus  instructed. 

29 


450    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


ORALL. 

Oh,  I  do  thank  him;  but  his  benefits 
Make  dumb  my  gratitude.     I  cannot  think 
Of  all  he  has  done  for  me,  his  humblest  slave, 
But  my  heart  burns  to  find  a  recompense. 

ALC. 

Sir,  he  speaks  true ;  he  is  the  lovingest  knave 

Was  ever  mind-enthralled.     Some  think  him  crazed 

In  the  affection  that  he  bears  Pizarro,— 

<He  doth  so  follow  him,  and/when  in  presence, 

So  gloats  upon  him  with  his  keen  wild  eyes, 

That  his  life's  privilege  seems  earned  with  gazing.  > 

DE  CAST. 

A  strange  unnatural  passion  in  a  man, 
To  love  the  oppressor  of  his  countrymen. — 
What  does  he  now? — 

ORALL. 

Alas,  this  altar  here — 

What  is't  without  the  spirit  that  should  inshrine  it? 
This  will  not  harm,  this  will  not  slay,  while  thus, 
Nor  mock  the  vapour-spirits,  when  they  flash 
Death  through  the  clouded  mountains.   This  is  nothing. 
Without  the  greater  secret — nay,  not  more 
Than  is  a  war-club  in  a  strong  man's  hands. 

ALC. 

What  seek'st  thou,  Pedro? 


ORALLOOSSA  451 

ORALL. 

Ye  are  Viracochas, 

Sons  of  the  gods,  and  wise!     Would  I  knew  this: — 
Tis  not  such  sand  as  spreads  the  blackened  beach. — 

ALC. 

What  hast  thou  in  thy  palm?     What,  gunpowder? 

ORALL. 

Will  not  your  honourable  lordship  show  me, 
What  is  the  secret  of  this  little  grain, 
That  hath  a  god  in  its  black  mass  wrapped  up, 
More  powerful  than  the  thunder? 

ALC. 

What,  a  god? 

ORALL. 

Perhaps  a  devil, — a  most  pernicious  devil, 
Wherewith  the  cunning  may  enslave  the  strong, 
And  the  few  quell  the  million.     I  would  know  him : 
I  have  worshiped  him ;  he  heeds  not,  till,  grown  angry, 
I  cast  him  in  the  flames;  and  then  he  answers, 
With  a  brave  noise,  and  vanishes. 

ALC. 

Thou  art 

Half  pagan  yet.     Worship  this  senseless  dust, 
Which  is  as  gross  as  thy  credulity ! — 
There's  no  divinity  nor  magic  here : 
Three  simple  substances,  within  the  reach 
Of  every  man,  united,  form  this  wonder. 


452    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ORALL. 

Are  they  to  be  found  in  Peru  ? 

ALC. 

Abundantly — upon  every  mountain — 

ORALL. 

Eternal  sun ! 

DE  CAST. 
Ha! 

ORALL. 

Holy  saints! — in   Peru! 

What,  on  our  savage  hills?     Oh,  much  I  fear, 
My  noble  lord  now  mocks  me. 


The  first  is  charcoal. 


ALC. 

Thou  shalt  hear: 


ORALL. 

Charcoal !     Ha,  ha,  ha!     Who  would  have  thought  it? 

ALC. 

Next,  sulphur. 

ORALL. 

Sulphur!     Ha,  ha!     Why  that  grows  on  the  moun 
tains,  in  the  old  craters ! 

ALC, 

Last,  nitre. 


ORALLOOSSA  453 

ORALL. 

Nitre ! — O  sun ! — O  holy  Maria !  Marvellous,  wonder 
ful  !  Ha !  ha !  I  can't  help  laughing.  I  know  of 
caverns  in  the  hills,  whose  floors  are  white  with  it. 
—Nitre— Ha,  ha! 

ALC. 

Nature  conjoins  these  elements  together 

In  the  hollow  chambers  of  your  native  mountains; 

Which,  being  ignited  by  the  central  fires, 

Produce  the  eruptive  volcano  and  loud  earthquake. 

ORALL. 

St.  Anthony!  but  I  will  make  some! 

ALC. 

You  may  do  it  easily. 

ORALL. 

I  will  make  a  mountain  of  it,  I  will  make  an  earth 
quake!  Ha,  ha!  the  Peruvian  shall  make  a 
noise,  that  will  cause  his  noble  masters  to  laugh — 
the  hills  shall  laugh,  all  Peru  shall  laugh,  and 
cry  aloud  on  the  Peruvian ! 

ALC. 

You  must  be  cautious  how  you  handle  it. 

ORALL. 

Cautious !  I  will — I  will  be  as  cunning  as  a  wild  cat, 
when  he  creeps  through  the  thicket  and  circum 
vents  his  prey.  Ha,  ha !  Sulphur — nitre — char 
coal  ! — 


454    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

(Aside.)    O  holy  sun!    I  thank  thee!     Smile  upon  me 
A  little  longer,  and  thy  people  yet 
Shall  live  to  worship  thee!     And  thou,  my  father! 
From  thy  bright  throne  of  sunshine,  look  upon  me! 
Vengeance  is  nigh — thy  people  shall  be  free ! 

DE  CAST. 

Is  the  slave  mad  ? 

ALC. 

It  is  his  natural  spirit, 
That  oft  bursts  out  into  these  rhapsodies, 
At  lighter  matters — (Trumpet.)     Hark!  the   Viceroy 
comes. 

DE  CAST. 

I  did  not  think  his  grace  had  been  so  nigh. 
I  scarce  am  fitted  for  the  audience  yet. 

ALC. 

'Twas  but  the  trumpet  of  the  advanced  guard: 
'Twill  be  an  hour  ere  yet  Pizarro  comes. 

DE  CAST. 

Why  then  farewell.     Tomorrow  I  will  pay 
My  duties  to  his  highness. 

(Exit.) 

ORALL. 

By  Saint  Francis! 

Tomorrow!  Yea,  tomorrow,  or  the  next  day — 
And  why  not  now  ?  He  will  not  face  my  master ! 
Why  I  distrust  him. 


ORALLOOSSA  455 

ALC. 

Certain,  'tis  most  strange 
He  shuns  the  present  meeting. 

ORALL. 

Sir,  it  speaks 

A  very  treason.     Have  I  eyes?     I  see't. 
Now  would  I  make  a  weapon  of  my  doubt, 
And  hide  it — in  his  doublet !     Holy  saints ! 
Nothing  but  treason!     All  men  now  are  traitors, 
Plotting  their  scurvy  malice  'gainst  my  master. 
And,  noble  sir,  he  is  too  merciful: 
He  should  go  seek  his  enemy  in  the  dark, 
And  then  be  quick — The  dead  men  are  our  friends. 

ALC. 

Thou  art  too  jealous,  Pedro. 

ORALL. 

Oh,  'tis  my  love  for  my  great  master  then. 

Yet  I  can  see — Have  I  not  cunning  eyes  ? 

Believe  me,  sir,  I  swear,  yon  young  Almagro 

Is  a  foul  villain,  that  would  sell  his  soul, 

To  gain  his  devilish  ends  upon  Pizarro. 

I  see  it;  I  have  eyes — I  have  c'erspied  him: 

He  sharps  his  knife,  and,  from  his  window,  scowls 

All  day  upon  the  palace. 

ALC. 

Well,  your  fear 

Here  jumps  with  mine;  and  with  the  Viceroy's  too; 
Who,  in  this  letter,  bids  me  have  him  summon'd 
To  meet  him  at  the  palace,  here,  to  answer 
For  the  feared  phantom  that  he  raised. 


456   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ORALL. 


Of  Oralloossa. 


A  phantom? 
ALC. 


ORALL. 

Ho!  a  lying  phantom. 
What  should  the  Inca  do  among  the  hills, 
When  he  so  soundly  sleeps  (could  one  but  find  him), 
In  a  safe  couch,  hard  by  the  Conqueror? 

ALC. 

Yes,  in  his  grave!     I  would  that  I  might  see  it. 

ORALL. 

Thou  never  wilt ;  for  he  himself  did  swear, 
No  Spanish  eye  should  look  upon  his  tomb; 
For  he  would  build  it  in  the  Conqueror's  hall, 
With  the  last  Spaniard  for  his  pillow! 

ALC. 

Pedro ! 

ORALL. 

Did  he  rtot  lie?     Twas  Oralloossa's  oath; 
And  what  is  Oralloossa,  when  the  Spaniard 
Treads  on  his  bosom?     A  very  mad,  strange  oath ! 
What,  the  last  Spaniard!     A  most  mad  conceit ! 
His  grave  dug  deeply  in  Pizarro's  palace, 
And  the  last  Spanish  corse  to  be  his  pillow! 

ALC. 

A  ruffian  runagate!     But  get  you  gone; 

Summon  Almagro  to  the  palace,  here 

To  meet  the  Viceroy  at  his  earliest  audience. 


ORALLOOSSA  457 

ORALL. 

I  am  your  lordship's  slave — A  lying  oath! 
A  palace  monument !  and  the  last  Spaniard ! 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE    II.     A    room    in    Almagro's   house.     Enter 
SOTELA  and  ALMAGRO. 

SOT. 

<  'S  death,  I  shall  burst — Those  tattered  rascals  look 
As  they  would  sell  a  traitor  for  a  crust. 
They  are  starved,  all  but  the  ears. — Lo,  ears!> 
(He  locks  the  door.) 

ALM. 

How  now, 

Old  soldier?     Have  you  drawn  me  from  the  feast, 
And  lock'd  the  door  betwixt  me  and  my  guests, 
To  talk  to  me  of  riot  and  excess, 

And  your  old  grandam's  proverbs?     Or — perhaps, — 
What  do  I  owe  thee?     Or  rather,  what  my  father? 
I  am  governor  of  Chili,  and  I'll  pay  thee. 

SOT. 

Thou  governor!  thou  boy,  that,  like  a  slave, 
Sit'st  down  upon  thy  grievances,  without 
The  wit  to  see  them,  or  the  manliness 
With  a  brave  blow  to  end  them. 

ALM. 

Grievances ! 

Am  I  not  lord  of  Chili,  and  the  heir 
To  all  my  father's  Conquests  ?     Have  I  not 


458   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

My  father's  friends  here  sitting  at  my  board, 
And  swearing  I'm  the  next  man  to  Pizzarro? 
Come,  let's  return;  <I  have  a  stoup  of  wine, 
Which,   though    'tis   sour,   is   excellent   old.     Come, 
come.  > 

SOT. 

Hark  ye,  young  man :  I,  who  am  old  and  withered, 

My  limbs  all  stiffen'd,  and  my  blood  congeal'd 

By  sixty  winters'  frosts,  now  look  upon  you, 

Your  patient  sufferance  of  indignity, 

Your  base  forgetful  ness  of  your  father's  wrongs, 

<  Ended  by  his  most  foul  and  bloody  death, 

While  his  red  murderer  stares  you  in  the  face,  > 

As  some  thing  monstrous  and  incredible ! 

Why  my  thin  blood  doth  boil,  and  my  shrunk  nerves 

Find  strength  and  fury,  while  I  look  around, 

And  see  the  assassin  of  my  friend,  your  father, 

Perch 'd  in  his  seat  of  honour,  and  the  son 

Of  the  great  Conqueror  crouching  at  his  feet, 

Smiling  and  jesting — 

ALM. 

Tush,  you  are  in  a  passion, 
I  crouch  not  at  his  feet;  or,  if  I  do, 
I  have  an  end  in  't. 

SOT. 

And  what  to — to  gain?     Perhaps  a  smile  of  favour, 

Followed  by  a  kind  order  to  his  slaves, 

"Give  this  man  gold,  but  drive  him  from  my  doors!" 

<ALM.      . 

Come,  let's  to  dinner. 


ORALLOOSSA  459 

SOT. 

Have  you  appetite  ? 

Now,  by  Saint  Anthony,  that  meat  should  choke  you, 
Which  came,  as  a  peaceoffering,  from  Pizarro.  > 

ALM. 

Come,  come;  our  good  friends  wait  us. 

SOT. 

Fy  upon  them ! 

A  troop  of  scowling  beggars,  that  will  feed 
Upon  the  bread  of  an  impoverish 'd  leader, 
Yet  show  no  steel  to  right  him. 

ALM. 

'S  life,  I  tell  you, 
They  are  all  true  men.     How  should  they  show  their 

steels, 
When  they  have  pawned,  or  sold  'em?     <Or  how  use 

them, 

After  redemption?     Upon  dogs  and  cats?> 
We  want  not  swords — Pizarro  does  the  killing. 

SOT. 
He  kill'd  your  father! 

ALM. 

Ay ;  all  flesh  is  mortal ! 

• 

SOT. 

Sirrah,  it  is  thy  mother's  Indian  blood 
Makes  thee  so  soulless! 


460    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ALM. 

My  mother  was  a  Coya 

0'  the  Inca  blood;  and  all  the  drops  she  gave  me, 
Have  all  the  fire  of  their  original, 
The  sun  of  heaven !     Look  thou,  hotheaded  man ! 
Swear  thou  art  true,  and  wilt  sustain  my  cause, 
And  hast  not  come  to  trap  me  for  Pizarro. 

SOT. 
What  dost  thou  mean  ? 

ALM. 

That  I  am  overlooked, 
And  marked  for  peril;  so  that,  rashly,  I 
Will  take  none  to  my  counsels.     But  forgive  me; 
I  mocked  thy  love,  only  to  sound  its  depth. 
I  have  an  end,  rest  you  assured  of  that 
In  all  this  seeming  sufferance. 

SOT. 

Now  by  heaven, 
A  true  Almagro ! — Death  to  your  father's  murderer ! 

ALM. 

He  stole  my  heirdom  too,  I  thank  him  for  't, 
The  regency  of  Chili  and  of  Cuzco; 
<  And  keeps  me  here,  noosed  like  a  taming  tiger 
To  yield  him  sport,  when  he  may  choose  to  bait  me.  > 
Payment  I'll  have,  and  vengeance;  but  the  time 
Is  not  yet  come. 

SOT. 

Sir,  by  your  leave  it  is : 
Now,  while  in  chase  of  mountain-hid  Peruvians, 


ORALLOOSSA  461 

He  leaves  his  city  masterless;  now,  while  he 
An  insurrection  in  the  country  quells, 
Himself  quell  with  another. 

ALM. 

So  I  meant  it, 

When  (for  I'll  own  it  to  thee),  I  myself 
Begot  the  rumour  of  the  mad  rebellion, 
And  of  resuscitated  Oralloossa. 
Vain  stratagem,  vain  hope! 

SOT. 

Why  is  it  vain  ? 

It  served  you,  as  you  wished,  to  drive  away 
The  governor. 

ALM. 

Ay;  but  it  left  behind 
The  governor's  slave. 

SOT. 

His  slave! 

ALM. 

Peruvian  Pedro ; 

My  evil  genius,  as  he  was  my  father's. 
Look  you,  this  kite  was  once  my  father's  bondman, 
And  by  my  sire  ('tis  now  perhaps  seven  months), 
Given  to  Pizarro.     O  the  treacherous  hound! 
Himself  did  pray  it,  that,  by  winding  into 
The  secrets  of  the  ruler,  he  might  profit 
My  father,  whom  he  swore  he  deeply  loved. 
But  mark  his  love!     'Twas  he  my  sire  betray'd, 


462    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

And  gulled  him  to  the  block, — this  cunning  fiend: 
Who,  with  an  Indian's  fickleness,  soon  gave 
The  love  he  owed  my  father,  to  Pizarro. 
This  villain  is  Pizarro's  truest  friend, 
And,  'faith,  the  Viceroy  knows  it. 

SOT. 

What,  a  slave? 

ALM. 

A  monster,  human,  but  inexplicable; 

[Of  faith  and  perfidy,  a  lamb  and  tiger) 

A  man  and  devil,  a  perilous  enigma; 

Who  looks  upon  his  master  as  his  god, 

And  all  men  else  his  master's  enemies. 

This  rogue  was  left  behind,  with  cunning  eye 

To  pry  upon  my  plans;  and  pries  so  sharply, 

There's  naught  I  do,  but  he  stands  by,  the  witness. 

While  this  slave  lives,  the  Viceroy  cannot  die. 

SOT. 
Kill  him! 

ALM. 

Ay,  do  me  that ;  and  let  Pizarro 
Not  know  me  in  the  act.     Catch  him  asleep ! 
I  think  his  life  is  charm'd:  three  times  already 
He  hath  escaped  me. — Hark! 


What  ho! 


CHRISTOVAL  (Within.) 

My  royal  kinsman ! 


ORALLOOSSA  463 

ALM. 

My  foolish  cousin,  Christ  oval. 

(He  opens  the  door.) 

(Enter  CHRISTOVAL,  JUAN,  < an d  other  Almagrists.  > ) 
Well,  kinsman,  what  is  the  matter? 

CHRIST. 

Much  is  the  matter.  <I  have  seen  the  day  I  would 
have  given  a  man  a  cloak,  had  he  but  asked  it. 
Look,  emperor  of  Chili,  you  are  appointed  umpire 
in  the  matter  of  the  cloak.  I  claim  the  cloak, 
and  by  Saint  Dominick,  I  will  have  the  cloak: 
but  you  shall  judge. 

ALM. 

Pr'ythee,  cousin,  bring  not  thy  foolish  disputes  before 
my  venerable  friend. 

CHRIST. 

Foolish!  This  comes  of  being  an  emperor.  What 
may  be  sport  with  kings,  is  a  life-and-death  affair 
to  commoners:  a  monarch  may  laugh  at  a 
shoulder  of  mutton,  but  a  beggar  is  glad  of  the 
bone. 

JUAN 

He  likens  the  cloak  to  a  bone,  because  it  is  a  bone  of 
contention. 

CHRIST. 

I  do  no  such  thing :  I  liken  the  cloak  to  nothing  but 
a  cloak. 


464    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ALM. 

Pr'ythee,  some  one  tell  me  what  is  the  matter? 

CHRIST. 

Thou  art  the  umpire.  Thou  knowest,  son  of  mine 
uncle,  we  twelve  are  thy  twelve  truest  friends. 

ALM. 

And  therefore  I  thank  you  heartily. 

CHRIST. 

Thou  knowest,  we  twelve  are  twelve  of  the  poorest 
varlets  in  all  Peru. 

ALM. 

Therein  do  I  sympathize  with  you.  We  will  be  rich 
enough  by  and  by. 

CHRIST. 

Ay,  thus  have  you  been  singing  ever  since  I  placed 
foot  in  Peru :  And  thus  said  mine  uncle  Almagro, 
— "Let  my  nephew  come  to  Peru,  and  I  will  make 
him  a  rich  man  and  a  prince;  and  thereby  he 
hinted,  he  was  the  same  as  a  king  in  the  land. 
And  here  am  I,  no  more  in  Peru,  than  in  purga 
tory;  and  apparelled  like  a  vagabond,  as,  indeed, 
are  all  my  friends ;  and  instead  of  having  homage 
done  me  as  a  nobleman,  I  am  jostled  out  of  the 
way,  like  anybody's  dog:  and  instead  of  finding 
mine  uncle  a  king,  I  find  him  not  only  without  a 
crown,  but,  holy  Mary!  without  a  head;  and 
instead  of  finding  my  cousin,  his  son,  the  emperor 


ORALLOOSSA  465 

of  Chili,  I  find  him,  next  to  myself,  the  poorest 
man  in  Peru.  I  would  to  Saint  Dominick  I  were 
in  mine  own  land  again ! 

JUAN 
Ay,  marry,  or  out  of  the  cloak. 

CHRIST. 

Ha!  I  had  forgot  that.  We  twelve  then,  cousin 
emperor,  being,  as  I  said,  so  detestable  poor, 
and  our  cloaks  being  so  utterly  rusty  and  tatter 
demalion,  we  found  us  a  conceit  for  keeping  up 
the  array  of  gentlemen,  though  our  pockets  were 
none  of  the  yellowest. 

ALM. 

Well! 

CHRIST. 

We  had  e'en  just  enough  among  us  to  compass  one 

respectable  mantle — 

ALM. 

Well,  well. 

CHRIST. 

So  we  bought  one,  engaging  ourselves  to  wear  it  time 
about,  each  man  his  day. 

JUAN 

Each  man  his  turn.     Nothing  about  day. 

30 


466   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SOT. 

To  this  thing,  then,  that  man  reduces  them, 
For  being  friendly  to  Almagro !  Pho ! 
Denies  them  office  and  employment ! — Go  to ! 
You  shall  take  cloaks  out  of  Pizarro's  wardrobe. 

CHRIST. 

Pizarro!  Ay,  that  is  another  thing  I  forgot  in  the 
controversy.  I  claps  me  on  the  cloak,  and 
saunters  about  the  green  fields,  not  having  seen 
them  in  sunshine  for  twelve  days;  and  there  I 
heard  a  thing  may  advantage  thee  to  know.  > 
The  Viceroy  is  returning. 

ALM. 

'S  blood,  cousin,  it  cannot  be! 

CHRIST. 

I  say,  the  Viceroy  is  returning;  <and  with  the  most 
discreet  and  disciplined  array  of  cloaks  to  the 
back  of  his  knaves,  as  man  never  looked  upon.  > 
I  had  it  of  his  advanced  guards;  some  of  whom 
railed  at  me,  for  a  cursed  Almagrist,  and  bade  me 
beware,  lest  lying  and  tricking  were  followed  by 
whipping. 

ALM. 
Have  we  traitors  among  us? 

SOT. 

What! 

ALM. 

How  should  he  trace  the  stratagem  to  me  ? 


ORALLOOSSA  467 

SOT. 

Nay,  there  is  no  certainty  he  does. 

ALM. 

That  cursed  Pedro! 

CHRIST. 

I  would  I  were  a  viceroy !     I  should  have  my  Coy  a  too. 

ALM. 

What  say 'stthou? 

CHRIST. 

That  I  am  fitter  to  love  a  daughter  of  the  Sun,  than 
gray-bearded  Pizarro. 

ALM. 

What,  what? 

CHRIST. 

The  Viceroy  is  enamoured  of  one  of  thy  royal  black- 
eyed  cousins,  a  daughter  of  the  Incas. 

ALM. 

Hah! 

CHRIST. 

This  I  heard  from  the  rascals,  or  they  slandered  their 
master.     He  had  the  princess  from  Cuzco. 

ALM. 

From  Cuzco  ? 

CHRIST. 

Ay. 


468    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ALM. 

Her  name  ? 

CHRIST. 

Baptized  Beatrice.     The  soldiers  called  her    Hoo — 
Hoo— 

ALM. 

Ooallie! 

CHRIST. 

The  same;  sister  of  the  pestilent  dead  Inca,  Oralloossa. 

ALM. 

Now  is  Pizarro  bought  and  sold !     Oho ! 

When  age  resolves  its  reverend  excellence 

Into  the  boyish  vapour  of  a  sigh, 

Then  may  boys  shame  it  with  their  manliness. 

Give  me,  for  him  that  I  would  make  my  fool, 

An  old  man  doting  on  a  girlish  face : 

Then  shall  I  know  the  measure  of  his  brain, 

And  have  his  heart  of  trust,  for  tickling  it. 

Masters,  be  merry — the  fool'd  Viceroy's  ours! 

CHRIST. 

And  whose  shall  be  the  princess  ?     Look,  I  claim  her : 
I  have  a  fancy  now  to  love  a  princess. 

ALM. 

Why  you  shall  have  a  hundred,  if  you  will. 
This  Ooallie,  this  Beatrice,  I  know; 
And  when  I  dwelt  in  Cuzco  with  my  father, 
Built  me  a  loving  temple  in  her  heart, 
That  gray  Pizarro  ne'er  can  raze  away. 


ORALLOOSSA  469 

But  I'll  not  tell  you  further — only  this, — 
That  daughter  of  the  Sun,  even  by  the  sun 
I  swear,  shall  aid  us  in  our  enterprise. — 
(Loud  knocking.) 

What  is  the  matter?     <Hark!     Look  from  the  win 
dow^ 

OUT  friends  come  not  so  boldly! — Good  my  masters, 
I  do  assure  you  this  same  girl  will  save  us, 
Spite  of  Pizarro,  or  his  serpent,  Pedro. 

(Enter  ORALLOOSSA,  as  PEDRO.) 

ORALL. 

Where  be  these  lurking  haters  of  Pizarro? 

ALM. 

Villain,  why  break'st  thou  so  audaciously 
Into  my  house? 

ORALL. 

Ha,  ha!     It  is  Pizarro's; 
He  lends  it  to  thee.     By  the  holy  saints, 
Thou  hast  no  house. 

ALM. 

Sirrah ! 

ORALL. 

My  master  loves  thee  not ; 
Therefore  art  thou  inheritor  of  nothing. 
Why  break  I  in  upon  you?     By  Saint  John, 
I  stood  at  the  threshold,  and  smelt  villainy. 
I  knew  the  egg  was  warming  in  the  nest, 
And  came  to  watch  the  hatching. 


470   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ALM.    ' 

Snake-eyed  slave, 
Whom  Christian  light  has  only  made  a  Judas, — 

ORALL. 

Pedro,  not  Judas ! 

SOT. 

Is  this  insolent  villain 
The  traitor  bondman?     Draw  your  swords,  and  kill 

him, 
Now,  while  you  have  him  in  your  hands. — 


This  fury  mars  us. 


ALM. 

Hold,  hold! 

ORALL. 


What !  you  draw  your  swords 
On  Pedro?     On  the  poor  Peruvian, 
That  great  Pizarro  smiles  on  ?     By  the  cross, 
If  you  do  strike  me,  I  will  have  your  heads. — 
I  can  have  'em  any  minute  for  the  asking. 

CHRIST. 

That's  very  true. 

ALM. 

Hark  ye,  detested  slave, 
Thou  hast  deserved  no  mercy  at  my  hands, 
Who  didst  make  traffic  of  my  father's  life, — 
My  father  that  did  love  thee. 


ORALLOOSSA  47 1 

ORALL. 

So  he  did; 
He  said  so :     Yes !  he  loved  me. 

ALM. 

Wherefore  then 
Did'st  thou  betray  him? 

ORALL. 

Oh,  'tis  very  plain: 

I  long'd  to  see  how  he,  who,  on  his  warhorse, 
S worded  and  mailed,  like  to  a  warring  god, 
Among  the  thousand  slayers,  laugh'd  at  death, 
Would  grin  upon  a  scaffold! 

ALM. 

Bloody  dog! — 

ORALL. 

I  love  to  see  a  great  man  die, — a  man 

That  hath  a  nation  murdered  or  enslaved, — 

Such  a  great  man:     Tis  like  the  spectacle 

Of  a  blood-battened  puma,  as  I  have  seen, 

Sprawling  beneath  a  thunder-toppled  rock, 

Strongly  convulsed  and  greatly  perishing ! 

I  have  seen  an  Inca  die — look  you,  a  son 

Of  heaven's  resplendent  monarch ;  but  'twas  nothing, 

Till  I  could  hear  a  Conqueror's  last  groan ! 

Mark  you,  a  Conqueror's ! 

ALM. 

Thou  art  a  devil ! 

Why  dost  thou  seek  my  misery  and  death? 
I  am  not  great. 


472    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


ORALL. 


O  holy  virgin!  thine? 

I  could  love  thee;  but  thou  hatest  me,  I  know, 
And  my  great  master. 


ALM. 

Him,  thou  soulless  slave, 
Who  has  kill'd  a  million  of  thy  countrymen, 
And  hanged  thy  princes ! 

ORALL. 

Well,  why  should  he  not? 

What  were  the  runagate  heathens  made  for  then, 
But  whips,  and  swords,  and  gibbets?     Know'st  thou 

not, 

Heaven  was  wroth  with  Indians,  and  raised  up 
This  man  to  be  their  scourger? 

ALM. 

Renegade ! 
I'll  speak  with  thee  no  more.     Begone. 

CHRIST. 

Ay,  go; 

Get  out,  you  cur.     Why  do  you  pause? 

ORALL. 

To  do 

My  master's  bidding.     Thou,  Almagro,  art 
Commanded  by  the  Viceroy  to  appear, 
Within  the  hour  that  he  returns  to  it, 
Before  him  at  his  palace.     This  command 
He  makes  me  by  a  messenger.     Look  to  it ! 


ORALLOOSSA  473 

ALM. 

What  does  his  highness  seek  of  me  ? 

ORALL. 

To  answer 

The  lying  rumour  of  the  insurrection. 
You  were  better  drown,  than  fail. 


ALM. 

Insulting  upstart ! 


I  will  obey  the  Viceroy. 

CHRIST. 

Hark  ye,  savage — 

ORALL. 

I  am  a  Christian;  by  Saint  Anthony, 
A  proper  Christian ! 

CHRIST. 

Well,  a  word  with  you 
About  the  Coy  as.     I  will  nothing  say 
That's  of  yourself,  knowing,  as  I  do  know, 
You  are  a  miscreant  to  the  bone.     But  look  you, 
I  am  weary  of  my  bachelorship ;  and  therefore 
Will  wive,  and,  if  it  like  you,  with  a  Coya. 
Tell  me  then,  savage,  for  thou  art  Peruvian, 
Where  shall  I  find  a  Coya? 


ORALL. 

In  the  earth, 


Under  the  walls  of  Cuzco. 


474    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CHRIST. 

Now  thou  jestest! 

ORALL. 

Are  not  the  graves  all  full ?     Why  where  shouldst  thou 
Look  for  an  Inca's  child,  but  in  the  grave? 

ALM. 
Cousin,  have  done,  and  let  the  slave  begone. 

CHRIST. 

Sirrah,  I  say  thou  liest  now,  since  thy  master 
Has  brought  a  live  one  here  from  Cuzco. 

ORALL. 

From  Cuzco ! 
A  Coya ! — Nay !     She  was  not  there ! 

ALM. 

Who  was  not  there? 

ORALL. 

Ye  slander  my  great  master  with  a  lie — 

A  daughter  of  the  Sun! — Beware,  thou  prattler. 

My  master's  wrath  is  swifter  than  thy  tongue, 

And  hotter  than  thy  venom. — An  Inca's  daughter! — 

See  that  he  smite  thee  not  for  this,  among 

Thy  other  stratagems.     When  the  last  trumpets 

Sound  his  return,  be  sure  thou  seek  the  palace, 

And  make  him  satisfaction ;  or  thou  art 

Even  ripe  for  hanging. 

ALM. 

Villain,  get  thee  gone! 


ORALLOOSSA  475 

ORALL. 

I  say,  come  to  the  palace. — What,  a  Coya? 
Let  the  graves  rot  with  Coyas,  so  they  spare 
No  wretch  to  be  a  Spaniard's  paramour! 

(Exeunt.) 

END   OF  ACT   I. 


ACT   II 

SCENE  I.     A  hall  in  the  Palace  <with  open  corridors 
and  prospect.  >     Enter  ALCANTARA  and  CARVAHAL. 

ALCANTARA 

Even  at  the  gates? — Where  bides  this  dreamer,  Pedro? 
No  guards  about  the  palace,  to  receive  him ! 

CARV. 

All's  fix'd  and  fair;  the  guards  are  at  the  door, 
The  idle  citizens  in  the  street;  all  ready 
To  hail  the  hero,  who  has  quell'd  an  army 
Of  shadows,  and  made  conquest  of  a  woman. 

ALC. 

Is  it  then  true? 

CARV. 

Exceeding  true.     The  Viceroy, 
With  his  old  armour  rattling  on  his  back, 
Astride  his  arrogant  charger, — and  an  army 
That  might  another  royalty  subdue, — 
Into  the  city,  with  majestic  pomp, 
Conducts  the  spoils  of  this  campaign ;  and  that — 
And  that  spoil  is — a  woman. 

476 


Pr'ythee,  no  jests. 


ORALLOOSSA  477 

ALC. 
CARV. 


Be  thou  my  confessor: 

Should  not  gray  hairs  bring  wisdom  and  cool  blood? 
Is  this  a  time  to  toy  with  amorous  girls, 
When  treason  scowls  among  malicious  men  ? 
Here  now,  the  Viceroy,  who  should  keep  one  eye 
Upon  the  dark  Almagro,  sets  them  both 
Upon  a  foolish  Coy  a;  and  next  will  come, 
When  she  has  stuffed  his  ears  with  lies  and  love, 
The  thunder  of  rebellion. 

ALC. 

Pr'ythee,  cease. — 

Such  words  would  anger  him. — Observe!  'tis  Pedro, 
And  with  a  countenance  disturbed. 

(Enter  ORALLOOSSA.) 

ORALL.  (Aside.) 

A  Coya! 

Is  there  no  degradation  but  must  light 
Upon  the  blood  of  Incas  ?     And  from  Cuzco  ? 
Now  does  this  smite  me  with  much  shame  and  fear. 

ALC. 

What,  sirrah,  art  thou  rapt? 

ORALL. 

My  gracious  lord ! 
Pardon  my  thoughts,  that  they  were  with  Almagro. 


478    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ALC. 

What  of  Almagro? 

ORALL. 

I  do  think,  sir,  treason. 
Shall  I  go  to  the  gates,  to  meet  my  lord  ? 

ALC. 

Await  him  in  the  palace. 

ORALL. 

They  did  speak, 
These  vile  Almagrists,  slanders  of  my  master. 

ALC. 

Why  let  them  rail. — 


The  Inca's  murderer ! 


ORALL. 

And  to  my  face,  did  call  him 

CARV. 

Pho,  was  that  all? 

ORALL. 

Was't  not  enough,  to  call  him  murderer? 
His  highness  murderer?     Why  men  should  call 
A  caitiff  murderer!     And  then  they  added 
Foul  jests  about  a  poor  Peruvian  girl — 

ALC. 
Where  learn'd  they  that,  the  varlets,  of  the  Coya? 


ORALLOOSSA  479 

ORALL. 

A  Coya,  didst  thou  say?    An  Inca's  daughter? 
Now,  by  my  heart,  they  lie ! 

CARV. 

What,  sirrah  ?     Lie ! 

ORALL. 

Did  I  say  that  ?     Lie !     Spaniards  cannot  lie. 
But  think,  my  lord, — an  Inca's  daughter!     No,  no, 
They  do  not  lie;  and  yet,  me  thinks,  'tis  false. 
An  Inca's  daughter,  and  his  paramour ! 

ALC. 

And  why  not,  knave? 

ORALL. 

O  yes,  why  not,  my  lord? 
Is  aught  too  high  or  noble  for  Pizarro  ? 
Why  not,  why  not  ?     It  doth  but  honour  them, 
Though  the  best  buds  of  Peru's  royalty, 
It  doth  but  honour  them,  to  be  uplifted 
Into  the  bosom  of  the  Conqueror! 

ALC. 
What,  thou  art  moved? 

ORALL. 

By  saints  and  angels,  no ! 
It  is  great  honour!     And  yet  Peruvians  look'd 
Upon  their  Coyas  as  heaven's  daughters;  yea, 
Save  the  holy  Incas,  none  durst  touch  the  robe 
That  veil'd  their  sacred  bodies;  and  they  died, 
When  they  but  looked  upon  a  man — yes,  died ; 
To  love,  was  death ! 


480    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ALC. 

These  were  your  pagan  laws. 

ORALL. 

A  Coya,  what,  a  Coya?     I  do  believe, 
It  is  not  true! 

ALC. 

Why  should  it  not  be  true  ? 
This  passion  would  make  many  think  thee  still, 
At  soul,  Peruvian. 

ORALL. 

By  the  mass,  a  Christian! 

ALC. 

Why  should  it  not  be  true  ? 

ORALL. 

Where  should  he  find 

A  Coya  ?     They  are  vanished  from  the  land : 
Is  not  the  palace  of  their  fathers  empty? 
And  the  green  valleys,  where,  of  yore,  they  roamed 
Among  the  violets,  void  and  desolate  ? 
The  children  of  the  Incas  have  departed : 
They  were  the  prizes  of  the  Conquerors. 
Yet  I  remember  me  that  one  did  dwell 
Among  the  hills  of  Cuzco. 


This  may  be  she. 


ALC. 

Why  then,  sirrah, 


ORALLOOSSA  481 

ORALL. 

This?     Holy  heavens!  that  princess  was 
Of  a  most  rare,  and  pure,  and  delicate  spirit, 
Sweet  as  a  midnight  rainbow  on  the  hills, — 
A  trembling  flower,  that  would  have  withered  in 
The  atmosphere  of  shame;  and  oh,  so  proud 
And  queenlike  in  her  gentleness,  that  she 
Had  frown'd   shame   dead,   though    by   a    monarch 
offered. 

ALC. 

And  yet,  thou  fool,  Pizarro  hath  a  Coy  a, 
A  Christian  Coya;  and  from  Cuzco  too. 

ORALL. 

A  Christian ! 

ALC. 

Ay ;  art  thou  not  glad  of  this  ? 

ORALL. 

An  Inca's  child  a  Christian?     Oh,  rejoiced! 

What  were  the  Incas  but  idolaters, 

Foul  infidels,  and  cubs  of  Antichrist; 

That  perish'd  in  their  darkness?     But,  at  last, 

Come  light  and  honour,  faith  and  dignity ; 

And  a  poor  pagan  girl  may  reach  that  grace, 

To  be  beloved  by  angels  and  Pizarro ! 

CARV. 

I  think  the  knave  speaks  sarcasm  now !     A  rogue, 
With  a  fresh  Christian  wit. — 

(Trumpets.) 
31 


482    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ORALL. 

Room  for  the  Viceroy ! 

(Enter   PIZARRO,   attended  [and  GONZALO  D' CORDOVA 

with  his  body  guard]}. 

Hail  to  the  Conqueror!     The  Christian's  shield, 
The  heathen's  scourge,  the  master  of  a  world! 

PIZ. 

Our  faithful  Pedro ! — Cousin  Alcantara, 

Are  you  yet  weary  of  the  regency  ? 

We  will  release  ye. — What,  our  Chamberlain  ? 

See  ye  have  maidens  here,  with  love  and  honour, 

To  give  attendance  on  the  Coya ;  service 

Render  ye  her,  the  child  of  royal  Incas, 

As  to  a  monarch's  daughter. 

ORALL. 

Shall  not  I 

Become  her  slave,  that  am  her  countryman, 
And  best  will  know  her  pleasures? 

PIZ. 

Our  true  Pedro! 

Thou  shalt  be  near  her,  ever,  as  thou  lovest 
Thy  friend  and  master,  with  all  zeal  to  serve  her. 
But  stay — I'll  speak  with  thee,  and  there  despatch 

thee. 

Gentlemen  all,  give  me  your  leave,  I  pray  you, 
Until  the  hour  of  audience. — Cousin,  a  word. 

(Exeunt  all  but  PIZ.,  ORALL.  and  ALC.) 
What  man  is  this,  of  whom  you  sent  advice, 
And  of  his  mystic  errand  ? 


ORALLOOSSA  483 


The  judge  De  Castro. 


ALC. 

Dear  my  lord, 


PIZ. 

Let  him  be  the  judge. 

Yet  ran  an  evil  whisper  through  the  troops, 
He  bore  a  nobler  title.     If  it  be, 
The  imperial  fool  men  call  Pizarro's  master, 
Forget  Pizarro's  services,  Pizarro 
Is  mindful  of  their  merits ;  and  will  not 
Their  fair  rewards  yield  up  to  favourites. 
He  conquered  not  a  world,  for  kings  to  lavish 
On  kingly  minions ;  nor  a  field  of  empire 
Sowed  with  his  blood,  for  such  to  reap  the  harvest. 
<Let  him  look  close;  his  fifths  of  Peru's  gold 
His  frown  will  dwindle  to  a  tithe,  his  anger 
To  nothing;  and  ingratitude  will  rob  him 
Of  his  Pizarro  and  Peru  together.  > 
What  was  this  man  ? 

ALC. 

A  judge,  he  did  assure  me: 
And  yet,  with  sudden  haste,  he  left  the  palace, 
At  your  first  trump,  and  with  such  countenance, 
As  makes  me  fear. 

PIZ. 

What  says  my  Pedro? 

ORALL. 

A  traitor! 

Can  I  not  see?     Take  thou  my  head,  or  his. 
I  can  see  men's  hearts  peeping  from  their  eyes ; 


484   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

And  his  is  mischievous.     If  he  do  see 
The  sunrise,  he  will  plot  a  crime  for  night. 

PIZ. 

Let  him  be  looked  to :  pray  you,  seek  him  out, 
Ere  he  have  speech  with  any  here  in  Lima : 
I  do  desire  him  at  the  palace  quickly. 
If  I  do  find  him  leagued  in  aught  against  me, 
'Twere  better  he  had  laid  his  bones  to  rot 
Under  the  unknown  sea. — Let  him  be  found. 

(Exit  ALCANTARA.) 

ORALL. 

Shall  I  now  seek  the  princess  ? 

PIZ. 

Tarry  yet. — 
I  love  thee  well,  and  think  thou  art  my  friend. 

ORALL. 

Thy  slave  and  footstool. 

PIZ. 

I  have  tried  thee  long, 

And  find  thee  truer  than  the  best.     All  men, 
From  fear  or  jealousy,  have  turn'd  my  foes; 
I  trust  not  one :   Nay,  even  my  kinsman  there, — 
Methinks  sometimes  that  he  could  play  me  false. 
But  thou  art  open  to  me  as  the  day ; 
Thy  heart  is  bare,  and  naught  I  read  in  it, 
Save  love  and  honesty. 


Pedro  is  true. 


ORALL. 
Yes,  I  am  true; 


ORALLOOSSA  485 

PIZ. 

I  find  thee  my  best  friend, 
Now  when  forsook  of  all  that  love  me  truest ; 
My  brother  Ferdinand  by  a  king  ungrateful 
Thrust  in  a  Spanish  prison;  my  Gonzalo 
Trooping,  with  my  best  veterans,  at  the  springs 
O'  th'  mighty  Maranon;  and,  saddest  yet, 
Loved  Juan  mouldering  in  his  grave  at  Cuzco. 

ORALL. 

Ay:  'twas  Almagro  helped  him  there. 

PIZ. 

Not  so : 

'Twas  Oralloossa's  fierce  and  bloody  hand 
That  slew  the  boy — my  curse  rest  on  his  soul ! 

ORALL. 

Yes,  curses  on  his  soul ! 

PIZ. 

Thou  art  my  friend. — 
Under  thy  charge  I  left  my  fiercest  foes, 
Almagro  and  his  eleemosynary  crew. 

ORALL. 

Foul  traitors  all !     I  am  barbarian, 

Else  should  I  know  what  keeps  them  breathing  yet, 

When  they  were  safer  in  the  earth. 

<PIZ. 

I  doubt  me, 
They  were  not  proper  watches  for  my  pillow  ?> 


486   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ORALL. 

Let  them  beside  ye,  when  ye  sleep !     I  watch'd  them, 
And  know  the  knaveries  that  they  meditate. 
Nay,  they  did  draw  their  angry  swords  on  me, 
When  I  did  catch  them  plotting. — Wilt  thou  hear  me  ? 
Why  do  they  live? 

PIZ. 

Not  that  I  love  them,  but  because  I  fear 
Their  death  might  harm  me  more  than  can  their  lives. 
Men  then  would  call  me  tyrant  and  destroyer; 
<For  men  will  talk. 

ORALL. 

Yes,  certain,  men  will  talk.  > 

PIZ. 

We  must  be  wise.     Thou  knowest  that  men,  in  secret, 
Still  ponder  sourly  o'er  the  Inca's  death. 

ORALL. 

Sourly! 

PIZ. 

And  call  it  a  most  fearful  deed, 
Perfidious,  dark  and  bloody. 

ORALL. 

Dark  and  bloody — 

Many  such  words;  but  some  have  blacker  thoughts. 
I  heard  a  man,  who,  in  a  sort  of  dream, 
Walking  alone,  did  talk  unto  himself, 
And  give  such  thoughts  unto  the  babbling  air, 
As  made  me  tremble.     Of  the  Inca  'twas, 


ORALLOOSSA  487 

And  of  his  doom,  which,  he  did  say,  out  mocked 

The  best  of  devils;  for  hell,  quoth  he,  could  plot 

No  deeper  horror  to  affright  mankind, 

Nor  send  a  fiend  more  dreadful  than  that  man, 

That  schemed  out  this :  For,  for  myself,  said  he, 

That  did  but  look  upon't,  and  gave  no  help, 

It  haunts  my  memory  with  a  racking  dread, 

Chills  me  by  day,  and,  in  my  dreams,  appals 

With  hideous  images  that  will  not  die, 

But  glare  out  still,  to  mad  me :  Then  for  him, 

(For  thus  he  added,  in  his  moody  fear,) 

For  him  that  wrought  this  horror,  it  has  sealed  him 

Unto  perdition ;  scorpions  yet  shall  sting  him 

With  endless  anguish;  worms  shall  gnaw  his  heart, 

Fires  scar  his  brain,  and  slow  corrupting  terror 

Wither  his  body,  till  the  hour  is  come: 

Then  blood  for  blood !  and  pang  for  pang !  and  death 

Horrid  as  was  the  Inca's,  for  his  murderer! 

PIZ. 

Slave ! — 

ORALL. 

But  I  smote  him ! 

PIZ. 

Do  such  babblers  live? 

ORALL. 
Do  not  the  Almagrists,  and  a  thousand  such? 

PIZ. 

Death  to  them  all! 


488    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ORALL. 

Ha,  ha!     I  say,  die  all! 
Throats  to  be  cut !     There  is  a  joy  in  blood, 
More  than  in  wine ;  and  when  it  wells  and  bubbles 
Out  of  mine  enemy's  heart,  it  makes  me  drunk 
With  a  fierce  rapture ! — Shall  they  die  tonight  ? 
Give  but  the  word;  thy  guards  are  devils  all, 
And  will  not  flinch  nor  fright. 

PIZ. 

Nay,  hurry  not : 

Let  them  not  openly  die,  as  by  my  hand. 
Find  out  some  dark  device,  for  thou  art  cunning, 
Will  turn  man's  eyes  from  me.     How  shall  they  die  ? 
Think  too,  they  have  the  wit  of  desperate  men, 
And  must  be  ta'en  by  craft.     How  shall  they  die? 

ORALL.         • 

Shall  I  not  tell  thee  ?     Look,  I  am  not  wise : 

How  should  the  poor  Peruvian  be  wise? 

The  savage  cradled  on  the  gorgy  hills, 

Nursed,  like  a  bear's  cub,  in  the  howling  woods, 

With  none  to  teach  him ;  save  his  wants  and  perils  ? 

I  am  not  wise ;  but  I  have  deeper  cunning : 

The  serpents  taught  me  that,  for  I  have  watch'd  them, 

When,  through  the  tangled  twigs  and  leaves,  they  crept 

Upon  the  drowsy  hare,  and,  ere  he  started, 

Wreathed   the   linked   folds   around    his    neck,    and 

crushed  him ! 

I  have  seen  the  cougar  too,  where,  from  the  boughs, 
He  leaped  upon  the  browsing  llama's  back, 
And,  ere  he  knew  his  fear,  had  dug  his  heart  out ! — 
Is  it  enough  ? 


ORALLOOSSA  489 

PIZ. 

Use  thy  best  craft  in  this, 
And  trust  my  gratitude. 

ORALL. 

Give  me  men  to  aid, 

PIZ. 

My  body  guard — 

ORALL. 

Enough.     Ha,  ha!  tomorrow 

There  shall  be  sights  for  Lima !     Rare,  brave  sights !- — 
Shall  I  now  to  the  Coya? 

PIZ. 

Holy  saints ! 

Such  thoughts  of  blood  suit  ill  with  her  fair  image. 
Carry  me  these  fair  jewels  to  her  beauty; 
And,  for  thou  knowest  her  country's  customs  well, 
Plead  for  me  for  her  love. 

ORALL. 

What,  for  her  love! 
Is  she  not  then  your  slave  ? 

PIZ. 

Let  her  not  think  so. 

ORALL. 

Why  should  the  miserable  savage  stand 
In  great  Pizarro's  likeness? 


490   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PIZ. 

For  Pizarro 

Knows  little  how  to  woo,  and  less  to  woo 
Peruvian  princesses.  I  swear,  this  Coya 
Gives  me  but  tears,  and  terror,  and  rude  coldness. 

ORALL. 

Coldness?     Ha,  ha!  and  tears  and  terror!     Saints, 
But  this  is  rare !     A  Coya  cannot  love ! 
The  child  of  Incas  cannot  smile  on  man ! 
Nay,  I  will  woo  her  with  such  cunning  words, 
Songs  of  old  time,  and  tender  yarabis 
As  needs  must  win  her  to  your  arms. 

PIZ. 

Do  this, 
And — But  I'll  speak  not  of  the  good  I  mean  thee. 

ORALL. 

These  jewels  to  her  beauty — Costly  magic! 
Dazzle  the  eyes  of  modesty  with  splendour, 
And  that  it  watches  o'er, — weak  virtue, — steal 
From  the  unvigiled  guardian. — Ye  shall  have  her; 
My  office  and  these  pander  gems  assure  it : 
The  Inca's  daughter  is  your  slave. 

PIZ. 

Away — 

[Her  women  are  comanded  to  obey  thee.     Hence] 
Unto  the  Coya! 

ORALL. 

The  daughter  of  the  Incas ! — 

(Exit  PIZARPO.) 


ORALLOOSSA  491 

The  Spaniard's  wanton — the  daughter  of  the  Incas ! — 

(Enter  a  female  Attendant.) 

Fetch  me  the  Coya. — Why  dost  thou  stand  agape? 
Fetch  me  the  daughter  of  the  Sun.     0  thou 
Convenient  creature,  that  watchest  at  the  door 
To  keep  out  honesty,  and  let  lechery  in, 
Behold  authority — this  jeweled  chain, 
Sent  by  Pizarro! — Bring  the  Coya  forth, 
And  then  begone. 

(Exit  Attendant.) 

O  Sun,  my  father!  bitter  was  thy  wrath, 
When  for  Peru,  most  favored  of  thy  climes, 
Thou  didst  allot  so  base  a  destiny ! 
Caitiffs  and  knaves,  the  refuse  progeny 
Of  vilest  nations,  lord  it  o'er  thy  people; 
A  swineherd  governs  where  the  Incas  reigned, 
And  the  mere  ruffian,  who  would  crouch  before 
A  passing  grandee  in  his  native  land, 
Treads,  in  Peru,  upon  the  necks  of  princes! 
Shall  this  thing  be,  and  I,  that  am  the  monarch, 
Still  play  the  bondman  to  the  Conqueror? 
The  lover,  to  the  Inca's  murderer? 
The  pander  to  the  Coya's  ravisher  ? 
Still  make  my  vengeance  wait  my  people's  weal, 
And  find  but  knowledge,  where  I  seek  for  blood? 
A  moon  or  two — a  week — perchance  a  day, 
And  Peru  looks  from  out  her  kingly  hills, 
With  her  reanimate  millions,  and  beholds 
The  Inca  risen,  the  Conqueror  on  the  Earth, 
And  Oralloossa  treading  on  his  neck, 
I'  the  ruddy  pomp  of  vengeance! — But  I  rave— 

(Re-enter  Attendant,  with  Ooallie.) 
She  comes — the  Inca's  daughter! — Get  thee  away. 

(Exit  Attendant) 


492    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Eternal  Sun,  that  look'st  upon  my  shame, 

Couldst  thou  not  blast  her? — But  a  look — Tis  she! — 

An  offering  from  Pizarro — Holy  princess ! 

Unveil  thy  countenance,  and  look  upon  me, 

Thy  countryman. 

GOAL. 

Alas,  alas,  what  art  thou? 
Thy  voice  is  like  a  memory  on  mine  ear.— 

ORALL. 

Thy  veil,  I  say !     (He  tears  it  off.)    Child  of  the  mur 
dered  Inca, 
Shame  of  the  living !  wanton !  Ooallie ! 

GOAL. 

Ah  ha! — my  brother!     Oralloossa! — 

ORALL. 

Inca ! — 
(She  kneels.) 

If  but  a  word  thou  speak'st,  thou  diest. — Thou  wretch, 
Thou  Christian's  wretch ! 

GOAL. 

My  brother,  and  my  king ! 

ORALL. 

Ay,  on  the  earth!  there  kneel,  and  crouch,  and  grovel! 
How  comest  thou  hither,  and  in  the  murderer's  train, 
His  slave,  his  creature,  his  meek  paramour? 

GOAL. 

0  brother,  brother,  speak  not  thus  to  me; 

1  am  not  that  poor  wretch  thou  callest  me, — 


ORALLOOSSA  493 

But,  though  a  poor  and  weak  unhappy  girl, 
The  Inca's  child,  and  Oralloossa's  sister! 
< Brother,  forgive  me;  take  me  to  thine  arms, 
And  let  me  weep  upon  thy  neck — I  have 
A  friend  and  brother !  > 

ORALL. 

Why  comest  thou  with  the  Spaniard? 

GOAL. 

Why  dost  thou  chide  me,  brother?     Was  not  I 
Left  lone  and  helpless,  feeble,  without  friends? 
Thou  know'st  my  father  slumbers  in  the  ground — 
Where  was  my  guardian  then  ?     Thou  didst  forsake  me : 
Brother,  didst  thou  not  leave  me,  yet  leave  not 
Thy  spirit's  greatness  to  uphold  my  weakness? 
Thou  left'st  me  naught  but  tears  and  orphanage. 

ORALL. 

Thou  art  my  sister!  my  poor  Ooallie! 
But  thou  hast  come  to  see  a  deed  of  blood. — 
'Tis  well  thou  hadst  but  terror  for  Pizarro; 
Else  had  I  doomed  thee  to  the  living  grave: 
Now  thou  shalt  share  my  vengeance. 

GOAL. 

<O  my  brother,  > 
What  dost  thou  meditate  ? 

ORALL. 

Art  thou  fit  to  hear? 

Thou  art  a  Christian!     Say,  art  thou  apostate? 
Dost  thou,  that  hast  thy  spirit  from  a  god, — 
A  beamy  essence  of  the  deity, — 


494   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Bend  to  men's  idols, — to  the  gods  of  devils? 
Speak,  art  thou  Christian? 

GOAL. 

A  Peruvian ! — 

Child  of  the  Sphere !  although  the  cowled  priest, 
Dashing  the  sacred  water  on  my  brow, 
Strove,  with  those  drops,  to  wash  the  beam  away. 
[She  rushes  into  his  arms.} 

ORALL. 

Nay  then  I  know  thee  for  my  sister  yet, — 
And  thou  shalt  smile. 

GOAL. 

They  said,  that  thou  wert  dead. 

ORALL. 

To  all  but  thee  and  Manco;  but  tonight 
The  Inca  rises. 

GOAL. 

O  my  brother! 

ORALL. 

Peace; 

I  am  the  bondman,  Pedro — he  that  bears 
Love-offerings  from  Pizarro — Tread  upon  them! 
Thus  shall  his  neck  be  trampled — Hark !     Away ! — 
The  Viceroy ! 

(Exit  OOALLIE.) 
(Re-enter  Pizarro.) 
Does  my  master  doubt  his  slave? 
Yet  shall  the  Coya  smile. 


ORALLOOSSA  495 

PIZ. 

Most  excellent  Pedro, 
What  said  the  princess? 

ORALL. 

Many  bitter  words; 
But  by  the  sun,  and  by  the  saints,  shall  smile. 

PIZ. 

What!     Bitter  words? 

ORALL. 

Hark  how  the  heathen  railed ! 

What  beast  art  thou,  she  cried,  what  wretched  slave, 
That  speak'st  of  shame  to  ears  of  Inca  race! 
That  art  the  intercessor  of  a  Spaniard? 

PIZ. 

What!  what! 

ORALL. 

That  hast  an  arm  unmanacled, 
And  strik'st  not  at  thy  master! 

PIZ. 

By  Saint  Peter, 
This  is  a  shrewish  spirit ! 

ORALL. 

A  doltish  slave, 

That  live'st  to  see  thy  country  spoiled;  thy  people 
Trod  in  the  bloody  press  of  tyranny : 
Thy  monarchs  gibbeted;  thy  daughters  shamed; 
That  look'st  on  naught  but  misery,  havoc,  ruin; 
That  nothing  hear'st  but  groans  and  clank  of  chains ; 
Smell'st  but  corruption;  tast'st  but  gall  and  dust; 
And  hast  no  hand  for  vengeance ! 


496    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PIZ. 

Now,  by  heaven, 

Thou  speak'st  me  false.     A  maid  so  meek  and  fearful, 
Could  not  be  turn'd  to  such  a  fury.     Speak! 
What  said  she  of  the  diamonds? 

OR  ALL. 

Look;  her  foot 
Crushed  them,  as  adders! 

PIZ. 

I  will  find  a  way 
To  cast  this  sudden  demon. 

ORALL. 

Art  thou  moved  ? 

This  fume  shall  end,  this  transport  rave  away. 
Thou  sent'st  her  diamonds :     Wilt  thou  win  her  love, 
Send  her  such  gems  as  best  should  please  an  Inca. 

PIZ. 

Name  them. — 

ORALL. 

Send  her  a  thousand  Spanish  heads ! 

PIZ. 

Thou  ravest !     I  have  observed,  within  this  hour, 
Strange  passions  in  thee,  fitful,  fierce  and  wild. 
What  is  the  matter? 

ORALL. 

Is  it  here,  or  here? 

My  speech  is  clear — is  not  my  heart  with  thee? 
Thou  canst  not  think  what  rapture  Spanish  blood 
Gives  to  an  Inca ! 


ORALLOOSSA  497 

PIZ. 

Nay,  I  know't. 

ORALL. 

Look  forth 

Upon  the  golden  hills:  Now  all  of  them, 
Those  topless  and  magnificent  old  mountains, 
With  all  their  metals,  would  an  Inca  give, 
To  see  all  Spaniards  carcassed  at  their  base ! 

PIZ. 

A  savage  malice!     But  I  think,  you  jest; 

Else  should  the  Coya  see  the  Almagrists'  heads. 

ORALL. 

Let  it  be  tried. 

PIZ. 

Thou  shalt  have  full  commission. 
Win  me  the  Coya  to  more  gentleness. 
Meanwhile  I  must  give  audience  to  Almagro; 
And  after  that  determine  of  his  doom. 
Soothe  thou  the  princess. 

ORALL. 

She  shall  be  my  lord's, 

When  o'er  this  waspish  terror.     But  a  moment, 
And  Christian  thoughts  assure  her. 

(Exit  PIZARRO.) 
Go  thy  ways : 

The  kite  is  over  thee,  that  snuffs  thy  blood, 
Slayer  of  Incas !  and  the  morrow  sun, 
That,  at  his  rise,  shall  altar  on  thy  body! 
32 


498    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Sire  of  my  sires !     Peruvian  deity ! 

Sink  smiling  in  thy  deep  tonight,  tomorrow 

To  beam  no  more  upon  the  Conqueror ! 

(Exit.) 

END  OF  ACT   II. 


ACT  III 

<  SCENE  I.     A  room  in  the  palace.     Enter  CARVAHAL 
and  ALCANTARA 

CARVAHAL 

Here's  mischief  brewing.     I  would  not  have  my  name 
Almagro,  for  its  credit. 

ALC. 

Faith,  Pizarro 
Is  greatly  vexed  with  him. 

CARV. 

Vexed!     Sir,  I  thought 

He  would  have  bid  us  cut  his  throat  i'  th'  presence, 
And  then  to  put  such  foul  contempts  upon  him ! 
Such  slights  and  sarcasms  as  had  stirred  a  dog 
To  snarls  and  fangs. 

ALC. 

De  Castro,  too,  has  failed 
The  audience;  and  this  moves  him. 

CARV. 

And  the  favorite, 

Peruvian  Pedro, — what  hath  set  him  in 
This  scowling  ferment  ?     'Slife,  he  roams  the  palace, 
Like  a  chained  wolf. 

499 


500    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ALC. 

Pizarro  hath  denied  him 
A  boon,  the  first  he  e'er  denied  to  Pedro : 
And,  being  so  slight  a  one,  it  shows  the  stronger 
What  anger  moves  the  Viceroy. 

CARV. 

What  boon  was't? 

ALC. 

He  did  but  ask  (and  why  he  asked,  is  strange, 
Since  he  has  liberty  of  all  his  humours) , 
To  ride,  upon  some  whim,  out  to  the  fields; 
Which  being  refused,  his  eager  spirit  frets  him 
Into  impatience  and  great  discontent. 
But  let  us  to  the  presence,  to  observe 

The  issue  of  this  fury. 

(Exeunt.)  > 

SCENE  II.     A  hall  in  the  same.     Enter  ORALLOOSSA. 

ORALL. 

No  horse,  no  messenger — And  I  an  Inca. 
Without  one  slave  to  serve  me  in  my  need  ? 
And  I  an  Inca,  still  to  wait  the  nod 
O'  the  white-cheeked  slayer? — What  there! 
(Enter  OOALLIE.) 

What.Ooallie! 

GOAL. 

Oh  brother,  is  it  thou? 

ORALL. 

Who  else  but  I? 
Didst  thou  look  for  another? 


ORALLOOSSA  501 

GOAL. 

Another! 

OR  ALL. 

Ay; 

Whom  shouldst  thou  look  for  here  but  Oralloossa? 
Hast  thou  made  friends  among  the  Spaniards  ?     Spurn 
them! 

GOAL. 

When    through    the    city's    swarming    streets    they 

brought  me, 

A  miserable  captive  in  their  hands, 
One  face  there  was  among  the  stranger  crowd, 
Wherein,  methought,  I  saw  a  friend. 

ORALL. 

A  Spaniard  ? 

GOAL. 

Nay,  of  Peruvian  blood. 

ORALL. 

Then,  holy  Sun! 

Let  him  but  look  on  me,  and  do  my  will, 
And  a  chief's  province  shall  be  his  for  guerdon. 
What,  a  Peruvian? 

GOAL. 

And  of  thine  own  blood; 
Thy  kinsman,  young  Almagro — 

ORALL. 

Death  upon  him ! 

Cub  of  a  harlot,  and  the  Inca's  shame. 
Death  on  the  mongrel ! 


502    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

GOAL. 

O  my  brother! 

ORALL. 

Weak  fool! 

Is  not  the  slave  a  Conqueror's  son;  and  therefore 
Thy  foullest  foe?  As  fell  the  blood-stained  sire 
Under  my  foot,  so  shall  the  mongrel  son. 

GOAL. 

Alas!— 

ORALL. 

A  step ! — Away. 

(Exit.) 

GOAL. 

Unhappy  I, 

If  Oralloossa  hate  him  thus — My  cousin ! 
(Enter  ALMAGRO.) 

ALM. 
Ooallie! — Hist! — I  give  my  life  to  see  thee. 

GOAL. 

I  knew  that  thou  wouldst  come;  thy  looks  assured  me. 

ALM. 

And,  as  in  old  days,  in  far  Cuzco,  still 

Creeping   through   perils:   For  know,    thy  love   has 

brought  me 

Under  the  roof  of  him  who  seeks  my  life, 
And,  did  he  see  me  thus  with  thee,  would  take  it. 


ORALLOOSSA  503 

GOAL. 

Woe's  me,  thou  art  much  perilled ! 

ALM. 

Think  not  of  it. 

Pizarro  woos  thee,  but  thou  lovest  not  him, 
Till  the  dove  courts  the  vulture.     Shallow  tyrant ! 
Thou  wouldst  not  think  how  vile  a  thing  he  makes 

me — 

Calls  me  to  presence,  to  behold  his  ruffians 
Heap  scorns  upon  me,  and  most  biting  slights; 
Then  sends  me,  as  to  mark  with  deeper  insult, 
Untended  to  the  doors, — I  thank  him  for't, — 
To  steal  about  his  halls,  and  find  out  thee! 

GOAL. 

Alas,  thou  wilt  be  slain! 

ALM. 

But  not  by  him. 

I  have  a  sword  will  all  these  wrongs  requite, 
And  a  strong  hand  shall  make  his  soul  account 
For  every  tear  he  draws  from  thee. — Assure  me, 
Thou  art  no  willing  captive! 

GOAL. 

Shall  I  need? 
Wilt  thou  not  go  back  to  thy  father's  land? 

ALM. 

What!     Ooallie? 

GOAL. 

If  thou  stay'st  here,  thou  diest: 
There's  not  an  hour  thou  dwell'st  in  Peru  now, 


504   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

But  is  forereckoned  to  thee:  tonight,  tomorrow, 

(And  oh,  perhaps,  thou  ne'er  shalt  see  the  morrow), 

An  enemy's  dagger  hangs  above  thy  life. 

Fly  to  the  sea,  and  farthest  from  Peru; 

Fly  now,  fly  quickly;  and  thou  may'st  be  saved! 

ALM. 

Now,  by  thine  eyes,  thou  fright'st  thyself  for  naught. 
Pizarro  cannot  kill  me. 

GOAL. 

No,  not  Pizarro: 

There's  one  that  eyes  thee  with  a  deeper  hate, 
And  more  unsparing  fury. 

ALM. 

If  thou  lovest  me, 
Give  me  that  villain's  name. 

GOAL. 

Oh  no,  no  villain! 

His  name  will  fright  thee :  and  but  now  he  said, 
Thou  shouldst  most  surely  die. 

ALM. 

Why  thou  poor  sparrow, 
Dost  thou  not  rave  ?     I  have  no  such  enemy. 

GOAL. 

The  Inca  hates  thee. 

ALM. 
WeakManco!— 


ORALLOOSSA  505 

00  AL. 

Oralloossa ! — 

ALM. 
Heaven  bless  thy  wits — The  dead? 

GOAL. 

Not  dead! 

ALM. 

What,  girl! 
Wilt  them  play  on  me  with  those  idle  mocks? 

GOAL. 

I  do  not  mock;  the  Inca  is  not  dead: 

But  now  I  saw  him,  and  did  speak  with  him. 

ALM. 

Oralloossa  ? 

GOAL. 

And,  in  the  dreadful  doom  he  darkly  ponders, 
Thou,  with  the  rest,  wilt  perish. — 

ALM. 

Spoke  with  him ! 
Where? 

GOAL. 


Here. 


ALM. 

Here! 


506   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

GOAL. 

In  the  palace ;  his  holy  frame 
Hid  in  a  bondman's  garb. 

ALM. 

By  heaven,  'tis  Pedro! 
Dolt  that  I  am!  mole-blind!— What  does  he  here? 

GOAL. 

Oh  me,  I  know  not,  save  to  hasten  forth 
His  horrible  vengeance. 

ALM. 

Ay!     O  noble  Spirit! 

This  makes  my  daring  tame;  and  yet  shapes  out 
An  easier  pathway  to  the  pinnacle. — 
I  am  his  blood. 

GOAL. 

He  will  not  think  of  that. 
I  have  betrayed  him,  but  to  save  thy  life. 
Wilt  thou  not  fly,  and  leave  him  to  his  deeds? 

ALM. 

No,  by  the  rood,  but  aid  him  for  his  love; 
And  I  have  that  will  win  it.     Fear  not  thou: 
Fate  made  us  kinsmen,  and  will  have  us  friends. 
Hark!  is't  not  he,  along  the  corridor  stealing?— 
I  pr'ythee,  leave  me  now  to  speak  with  him : 
And  when  again  thou  look'st,  thou'lt  see  how  far 
I  rest  me  in  his  love.     If  still  thou  fear'st, 
Look  on  us  from  some  nook  but  be  not  seen. —  | 
Away,  dear  Ooallie. — 

(She  retires.) 


ORALLOOSSA  507 

'Tis  marvellous! 

The  very  madness  of  his  savage  nature! 
<And  yet  most  well. —  > 

(Re-enter  ORALLOOSSA.) 

And  now  I  am  amazed, 

That,  through  this  shadowy  garb,  my  sottish  eyes 
Saw  not  the  glimmering  glories  of  the  Inca.— 
Heaven  save  the  excellent  Pedro ! 

ORALL. 

Hah!     A  traitor! 
And  skulking  through  the  palace! 

ALM. 

Ay,  a  traitor; 

<But  not  to  thee>  a  traitor  to  thy  foe, 
But  unto  thee  a  friend. 

ORALL. 

Art  thou  grown  mad, 

That  thou  shouldst  steal  thus  through  Pizarro's  halls 
And  rave  to  me  so  wildly  ? 

ALM. 

Hark,  Peruvian; 
Thou  walk'st  in  clouds,  but  still  mine  eye  perceives 

thee; 

Thou  art  not  what  thou  seem'st,  and  yet  art  more; 
I  know  thee! 

ORALL. 

Know  me  ? 


508    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ALM. 

And  conjure  thee  look 
No  longer  on  me  as  thine  enemy, 
But  as  thy  friend  and  servant. 

ORALL. 

Friend  and  servant 
Is  this  the  venting  of  thy  silly  spleen, 
Or  babbling  of  true  frenzy? 

ALM. 

Put  me  not  off. 
I  know  thee,  and  can  serve  thee;  for  the  thing  thoi 

hatest, 

Him  will  I  slay;  the  vengeance  that  thou  seekest, 
That  will  I  compass. 

ORALL. 

If  thou  beest  my  friend, 
Thou  seest  the  cross  I  worship ! 

(Draws  a  dagger.) 

ALM. 

Tis  the  best. 

ORALL. 

If  thou  dost  know  me,  tell  me  in  whose  side 
It  next  shall  rankle  ? 

ALM. 

In  Pizarro's. 


ORALLOOSSA  509 


ORALL. 

Speak! 
What  hand  is  his  that  grasps  it? 

ALM. 

Would  not  his  name 

From  their  foundations  toss  these  frighted  walls, 
As  though  an  earthquake  shook  them?     Let  me  know 

thee, 
Not  call  thee  what  I  know  thee — Oralloossa! 

ORALL. 

Thou  buy'st  thy  fatal  knowledge  with  thy  life — 
Die  with  thy  secret ! — 

(He  offers  to  slay  him:  OOALLIE  rushes  in,  and  arrests 
him.) 

GOAL. 

O  my  brother,  strike  not ! 

ORALL. 

Away,  thou  faithless  fool !     His  lips  have  uttered 
The  doom  that  seals  them. 

GOAL. 

Spare  him,  brother,  spare  him! 
If  thou  must  slay,  slay  me,  that  did  betray  thee, 
Not  him  that's  faithful. 


That  is  my  hate? 


ORALL. 
Why  should  I  spare  the  life, 


5io   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

GOAL. 

For  that  it  is  my  love; 

For  that  thou  slay'st  the  one  that  was  my  brother, 
When  thou  wert  not;  that  was  my  loyal  friend, 
When  all  men  else,  and  thou  with  them,  had  fled  me; 
And  for  the  knife  thou  plungest  in  his  breast, 
Sinks  deeper  into  mine. 

ORALL. 

Well,  get  thee  gone, 

And  let  me  speak  with  him.     The  thing  thou  loves t, 
Should  be  of  truth. — Son  of  the  Spaniard,  speak: 
Lovest  thou  the  Coya? 

ALM. 

Ay ;  and  for  her  love, 
Forget  my  father  and  my  countrymen, 
And  seal  me  solely  thine. 

ORALL. 

Then  know,  her  life 

Gages  thy  truth.— Away!     Thy  love  has  saved, 
And  thy  life  answers.     Get  thee  hence:     He  lives, 

And  is  my  friend ! 

(Exit  OOALLIE.) 

ALM. 

Cousin  and  Inca,  know  me 
Thy  truest  vassal. 

ORALL. 

Not  that  thou  hast  the  blood 
Of  Incas,  spare  I  thine ;  but  that  their  daughter 
Has  bought  thee  with  her  tears :  and  for  her  love, 


ORALLOOSSA  511 

I  spare  and  love  thee;  and  for  her  sake,  take  thee 
The  partner  of  my  counsels. 

ALM. 

But  why  put'st  thou 
Thy  greatness  to  this  jeopardy? 

ORALL. 

To  make 

My  people  free  and  great !     To  win  them  knowledge, 
Am  I  the  bondman  of  my  foe.     But  thou 
Hast  science  of  all  Christian  arts,  and  shalt 
Instruct  my  people:  yea,  for  this  I'll  love  thee: 
Thou  makest  me  sooner  free  for  my  revenge ! 

ALM. 

Thou  hast,  each  hour,  under  thine  arme'd  hand 
Thy  father's  murderer. 

ORALL. 

Ha,  ha!  to  think  of  that! 
The  murderer  of  the  Inca,  and  my  father! 
The  Inca's  hangman !     Ho !  and  I  did  stand 
Upon  the  hilltop  when  they  doomed  and  slew  him, 
And  looked  down  on  the  deed, — I,  I — even  I ! 
And  saw  their  felon  fingers  clench' d  upon 
His  sacred  body,  the  immortal  image 
Torn  from  his  brow  and  trampled  on,  and  he, 
The  Inca,  like  a  base  beast,  gibbeted! 
Gibbeted,  gibbeted! 

ALM. 

Pizarro's  life 
Can  ne'er  atone  that  deed. 


512    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ORALL. 

The  lives  of  all, 

Though  not  atone,  yet  shall  they  answer, — all ! 
All  Spanish  lives,  or  ere  the  morrow's  sun 
Sinks  in  the  sea :  so  shall  the  Spaniards  die : 
Look,  all— they  shall  all  die! 

ALM. 

What,  all? 

ORALL. 

All,  all! 

If  thou  hast  kinsmen,  look  to  give  them  up: 
There  is  not  one  of  all  these  Spanish  fiends 
Shall  see  the  evening  of  that  day,  not  one! 
When  thou  seest  reptiles  rattling  at  thy  feet, 
What    doest    thou?     Answer    that. — Thou    crushest 

them 

The  engendering  mother  and  her  hissing  brood; 
Thou  sparest  not  one — There's  ne'er  a  wretch  of  these 
But  is  an  obscene  serpent  in  mine  eyes. 
Full  of  all  venom ! 

ALM. 

Well,  I  am  Peruvian: 
The  Spanish  blood  I  have,  I  give  to  thee. 

ORALL. 

Thou  shalt  be  chief  of  Quito!     Hark  to  me: 
Tonight  (and  'twas  tonight  thou  shouldst  have  died, 
Pizarro  ordering) ,  Pizarro  dies. 

This  (Displaying  a  golden  sun.)   wakes  me  up  my 
slumbering  countrymen, 


ORALLOOSSA  513 

And  brings  me  Manco,  with  his  hidden  armies, 

T'  invest  the  city.     Take  thy  horse  and  fly, 

(For  on  thy  speed  an  empire  hangs  its  fate.) 

Fly  to  the  hills,  thy  path  on  Rimac's  brink; 

And  whatsoe'er  Peruvian  thou  seest, 

Among  those  wilds,  to  him  this  sun  display, 

And  bid  him  guide  thee  unto  Manco :  him 

By  this — more  powerful  than  the  Christian's  crown, — 

Command  with  midnight  armies  to  the  city, 

To  him  that  wears  it.     Thou  shalt  be  obey'd. 

ALM. 
And  thou,  the  Inca ! 

ORALL. 

For  thyself,  Pizarro 

Shall  bid  thee  to  a  banquet.     See  thou  come, 
With  arms  about  thee. — Thou  shalt  see  him  die! — 
Tomorrow,  when  the  storm  of  death  is  o'er, 
Shalt  teach  mine  ignorant  people  how  to  hurl 
This  city  of  the  Conquerors  to  the  earth. 

ALM. 

Destroy  the  city! 

ORALL. 

Ay,  the  brood  and  lair : 
Bury  them  in  their  gorgeous  halls,  and  leave 
The  mouldering  ruins  for  their  monument. 
Naught  shall  be  spared  of  Spaniards,  save  their  arts, — 
Their  arts  and  memory  detestable. 
Away  to  Manco.     Let  him  march  forthwith; 
The  Inca  calls  him,  and  the  hour  is  come! 

(Exeunt.) 

33 


5H   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SCENE  III.     Another  room  in  the  house.     Enter 
PIZARRO  and  ALCANTARA. 

PIZ. 

Concealed,  thou  say'st?     De  Castro  is  a  villain; 
Perhaps  leagued  with  the  greater  one,  Almagro.— 
Cousin,  these  men  must  die. 


Pedro  assures  me  that. 


ALC. 

It  is  most  safe : 


PIZ. 

An  excellent  villain ! 

But  for  his  crafty  watchfulness,  I  think, 
The  assassins'  knives  had  reached  us. 
(Enter  ORALLOOSSA.) 

ORALL. 

Good  my  master, 
Let  me  speak  with  thee. 

PIZ. 

Speak ;  fear  not  my  kinsman. 

ORALL. 

The  Almagrists ! — 

PIZ. 

Ay,  speak  on :     He  counsels  with  me. 
Those  men  shall  die. 


Tonight? 


ORALL. 

Then  is  my  master  wise. — 


ORALLOOSSA  515 

PIZ. 


Tonight! 


OR  ALL. 


Thou  had'st  me  find  a  way, 
How  they  might  fall,  and  no  man  look  to  thee.  • 

PIZ. 
'Tis  very  needful. 

ORALL. 

There  is  but  one  way. — 
Let  them  sup  with  thee — 

PIZ. 

Ha! 

ORALL. 

Relent,  as  though 

Thou  took'st  them  to  thy  favor:  thus  invite  them, 
And  let  this  banquet  be  their  last. 

PIZ. 

Thou  art  mad! 

This  is  the  surest  way  to  deck  me  ever 
With  blood,  as  with  a  scutcheon. 

ORALL. 

Hear  me  speak  it : 

Should  they  not,  when  their  cups  have  set  them  mad, 
Wax  hot  and  insolent,  and  assault  thy  life  ? 
Thou  kill'st  then  unmasked  murderers!     Who  shall 
blame  thee? 


516   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PIZ. 

Nay,  this  is  wisdom. 

ORALL. 

Let  thy  guards  drink  deep : 

And,  if  thou  wilt,  why  it  was  they  that  slew  them, 
If  the  drunkard's  fury — it  was  they,  not  thou; 
The  servants,  not  the  lord.     The  very  boldness 
Of  the  dark  deed,  conceals:     How  wouldst  thou  dare 
To  slay  so  openly  ?     Thou  art  innocent ! 

PIZ. 

My  Pedro  still !     Invite  these  vipers  straight. 
Let  the  guards  revel ;  and  all  curious  eyes 
Make    fast    with    drunkenness.     Have    thy    dagger 
sharp. 

ORALL. 

Sharp  as  my  hate. 

PIZ. 

Be  wise. 
(Exeunt  PIZARRO  and  ALCANTARA.) 

ORALL. 

Ha,  ha!  noosed,  noosed! 

To  strike  him  sleeping,  were  a  worm's  revenge; 
To  gull  to  grandeur,  and  then  kill,  an  Inca's! 

(Exit.) 

SCENE  IV.     A  room  in  ALMAGRO'S  house.     Enter 
CHRISTOVAL,  JUAN,  and  other  Almagrists. 

JUAN 

Courage,   courage!     I   tell   thee  our   gallant  patron 
and  <that>  old  <  stick  of  brimstone  >  Sotela, 


ORALLOOSSA  517 

have  hatched  us  a  plot,  that  will  give  us  dinners 
and  cloaks  enow;  ay,  and  by  the  mass,  Coyas  too, 
or  I  am  no  Christian. 

CHRIST. 

<I  saw  the  Coya,  weeping  in  the  litter;  and,  by  mine 
adversity,  I  longed  to  knock  him  on  the  pate, 
that  had  made  her  so  melancholy:  for  a  melan 
choly  woman  is  nothing  of  God's  making;  and  he 
that  sets  her  in  tears,  is  a  most  discreditable 
rascal,  I  assure  you.> — But  where  is  my  cousin, 
the  Emperor? 

JUAN 

Why,  thou  knowest,  he  has  mounted  his  horse,  and 
gone  into  the  fields ;  but  after  what  roguery  is  not 
yet  manifest. 

CHRIST. 

Yea,  I  remember  me  <and  he  had  a  face  as  full  of 
meaning  as  ever  my  pockets  were  full  of  rials  in 
mine  own  land:  but  wherefore  I  know  not;  only, 
me  thought,  he  looked  more  mischievous  and 
savage-like  than  common.  >  And  he  said, 
there  should  be  rare  sport  tonight,  and  many 
kings  tomorrow. 

JUAN 

Ay;  <and  bade  us,  as  each  man  loved  him  and  his 
own  good  fortune,  to  make  his  house  our  prison, 
until  he  returned,  to  release  us.  >  Rare  sport 
indeed!  Most  unconscionable  murder — as  one 
may  see  in  Sotela  yonder.  Look,  if  the  old 
dragon  have  not  a  sword  in  his  hand ! 
(Enter  SOTELA.) 


5i8    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SOT. 

What,  ye  young  bloodhounds,  stand  ye  fangless  yet, 
When  older  nostrils  scent  the  coming  hunt? 
Get  swords,  get  swords;  and  see  ye  have  them  sharp, 
<So  that  the  foe,  though  like  a  crocodile  armed, 
May  find  his  quiet  in  one  thrust.     Get  arms.— 
Each  man  his  sword  and  poniard :  >  for  ye  sup 
Tonight,  sirs,  with  Pizarro. 

JUAN 

With  Pizarro! 

CHRIST. 

Sup  with  the  Viceroy!     <Then,  by  Jupiter, 
I  have  the  cloak.  > 

SOT. 

Why  thou  exceeding  goose, 
What  think'st  thou  thou  art  call'd  for?     To  make 

merry, 

In  loving  wassail?  to  be  drunk?  to  dance? 
To  strut  and  caper  with  a  delicate  dame, 
<  Charm  ears,  kiss  fingers  and  be  fast  enamoured  ?> 

CHRIST. 

What  else?  and  for  what  else  should  he  invite  me? 

SOT. 

Not  for  thy  love,  but  for  thy  life,  assure  thee; 
<To  give  thee  bread,  but  takes  thy  bones  for  it:> 
To  fill  thee  wine,  and  rob  thee  of  thy  blood. 


ORALLOOSSA  519 


CHRIST. 

That  is,  to  murder  me,  a  murrain  on  him! 

<  There's  naught  but  rogues  and  cutthroats  in  Peru.  > 

I'll  see  him  hanged,  ere  I  do  sup  with  him. 

SOT. 

Nay,  but  thou  must,  and  with  thy  sword  in  hand, 
If  thou  canst  use  't. 

<  CHRIST. 

Ne'er  let  me  see  mine  own  land, 
But  I  did  buy  it  to  kill  savages. 

SOT. 
Why  so  thou  may'st;  but  kill  me  Christians  first.  > 

CHRIST. 

Shall  we  be  kings  though  ? 

SOT. 

Very  credible. 

CHRIST. 

And  marry  Coy  as  ? 

SOT. 
By  the  hundred. 

CHRIST. 

Ho! 

Then  I'm  resolved.  One  Christian's  life  is  nothing 
To  bargain  for  a  crown;  when  Christian  monarchs, 
To  keep  them  kings,  ne'er  boggle  at  a  million. 


520   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

<Hang  one's  own  land — there's  no  such  windfalls 
there. 

We  shall  be  kings  all;  but  I  claim  to  be 

King  of  that  land  where  are  the  handsomest  wo 
men. —  > 

JUAN 

So,  by  my  life,  our  chief  is  back  again! 

SOT. 

Then  look  to  see  great  deeds. — 

(Enter  ALMAGRO.) 

What  news,  what  news? 

< Shall  the  work  still  go  on?  What  news,  what 
news?> 

ALM. 

News  of  the  rarest  and  the  best. — Look  at  me! 
<  Look  I  more  mighty  or  magnanimous  ?  > 
Have  I  a  sceptre  in  my  hands?  a  crown 
Gilding  my  brow  ?  my  foot  upon  a  throne, 
Girt  by  my  million  vassals? 

CHRIST. 

No,  by  'r  lady: 
You  are  our  poor  emperor,  governor  of  Chili. 

ALM. 

Faugh!     Chili! — a  poor  wreck  of  hills  and  sands, 
And  dwellers  as  untameable  as  they. — 
You  are  my  masters, — meditate,  decide: 
What  will  you  have  me?  governor  of  Chili, 
Or  king  of  Quito  ? 


Determine. — 


ORALLOOSSA  521 

SOT. 

When  Pizarro  dies, 
ALM. 


Or  perhaps,  (but  that  I'll  whisper, 
Lest  greatness  stun  ye,)  Inca  of  Peru! 

SOT. 

This  is  to  mock  us. 

CHRIST. 

Inca!  nay,  he's  mad. 
Inca  indeed!     Where  is  the  Inca,  Manco? 

ALM. 

Doing  my  bidding. — Will  ye  gape,  and  stare? 
Let  the  grim  condor,  on  his  giant  wing, 
Flap  at  the  stars ;  yet  shall  his  flight  be  lowly 
To  that  my  destinies  begin  tonight ! — 
I  have  seen  the  Inca. 

SOT. 

Inca!     What  Inca! 

ALM. 

Both  — 

For  there  be  two  in  their  superb  conceits. — 
< Heaven  save  our  honesties,  what  a  rogue  is  man! 

As  prone  to  knavery,  as  a  cat  to  milk; 

That  swallows  vice  for  daily  food,  and  keeps 

That  which  should  be  his  truer  sustenance, 

His  virtue,  for  a  toothpick ! 


522    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SOT. 

But  the  Incas? 
Sir,  the  two  Incas  ?> 

ALM. 

First,  imperial  Manco, 

That,  with  his  sworded  multitudes,  lies  hid 
Among  the  leaves,  ready  to  pounce  upon  us, 
When  he  is  bidden  by — the  other  Inca. 

SOT. 

The  other  Inca! 

ALM. 

That  doth  sleep  among  us; 
He  that  was  dead,  but  rises, — Oralloossa ! 

SOT. 
What,  Oralloossa?     He  that  sleeps  among  us! 

ALM. 

We  have  been  slumbering  on  a  volcan's  brink, 
The  earthquake  gathering,  but  we  heard  it  not; 
Have  seen  the  Inca,  but  we  knew  him  not. 
We  have  been  fuming  o'er  our  petty  vengeance, 
While  the  great  storm  of  heavier  retribution, 
<That  us  was  e'en  to  swallow  with  our  foes> , 
Was  brooding  round  us. — Oralloossa  lives; 
And  he  hath  doomed  ye.     For  the  hate  he  bears  ye, 
Read  it  in  Pedro — He  is  Oralloossa ! 

SOT. 
That  slave,  the  Inca! 


ORALLOOSSA  523 

CHRIST. 

Pedro,  Oralloossa  ? 

<  Ne'er  trust  me  now,  but  I  did  call  him  cur, 
And  rogue  and  miscreant ! —  > 

ALM. 

Be  amazed,  but  dumb. 
I  am  his  trusted  now;  and,  at  his  bidding, 
Sought  out  his  uncle,  Manco,  who  tonight 
Circles  the  city  with  his  hordes;  and  when 
The  Viceroy  perishes,  turns  his  sword  against 
All  Spaniards. 

CHRIST. 

Here's  a  wolf! 

ALM. 

I  say,  fear  not. 

Thus  Oralloossa  ordered;  but  myself 
More  wisely.     To  their  camp  the  herds  shall  keep, 
All  save  the  Inca,  and  his  safest  chiefs. 
I  will  not  trust  the  knaves  too  far. — A  year 
Hath  Manco  played  the  Inca,  and  now  is 
So  grown  enamoured  of  authority, 
He  will  turn  rogue  to  hold  it.     Let  him  be  Inca, 
And  ye  are  lords;  let  Oralloossa  reign, 
And  not  a  man  of  ye  but  dies  a  dog's  death. — 
I  have  saved  the  city  and  your  lives ;  and  win 
A  Coy  a,  and  the  sceptre  of  the  sun. 

<  Is't  not  a  most  brave  fortune  ?  > 


Is't  Ooallie? 


CHRIST. 

Win  a  Coya ! 


524    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


ALM. 


That  name  must  be  forgot, 
Or  life  and  greatness. 


CHRIST. 


I  hope  this  knavery's  honest. 
To  kill  one's  foe  is  naught;  but  to  be  traitor 
To  woman,  is  to  be  a  dastard  traitor. 

ALM. 

Content  you,  cousin;  you  shall  know  all  tomorrow. 
No  harm  shall  reach  her;  and  the  thing  that's  plotted 
Shall  hurtless  end. 

CHRIST. 

What  is  that  thing,  that's  plotted? 

ALM. 

Nothing — Thou  art     grown  talkative.      No  more  of 

this. 

We  have  fiercer  work  afoot. — Are  ye  all  armed? 
I'll  give  ye  further  hints  upon  the  way. 
[The  chief  of  Quito!     The  fiend  that  slew  my  sire 
Would  buy  my  vengeance  with  a  petty  crown, 
But  vengeance  becks  me  with  a  dealer  price, 
Blood  and  the  Sceptre,  I  will  have  them  both.] 
A  trump  will  tell  us  when  the  Inca  comes. 
Keep  a  firm  countenance,  and  strike  no  blow, 
Till  ye  the  trump  do  hear,  and  mark  the  signal  :— 
No  blow,  I  say,  till  I  do  give  the  signal. 

(Exeunt.) 


ORALLOOSSA  525 

SCENE  V.  A  Splendid  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 
A  banquet  set  out.  Enter  ALCANTARA,  CARVAHAL  and 
other  Gentlemen. 

CARV. 

I  care  not,  I,  how  many  throats  be  cut: 

I  hate  the  Almagrists.     But  this  thing,  t'  invite  them 

To  share  our  hospitality,  then  murder  them, 

Is  very  knavish  politics. 

ALC. 

Yet  'tis  necessary. 

CARV. 

<  Nay,  'tis  no  matter.     I  will  straight  get  drunk, 
And  that  way  end  my  scruples. —  > 

ALC. 

See,  the  Viceroy ! 
(Enter  PIZARRO,  ORALLOOSSA  and  several  Gentlemen.} 

PIZ. 

Gentlemen  all,  my  friends  and  confidants, 

Why  for  our  lives,  and  for  the  state's  redemption, 

We  stoop  to  craft  and  perfidy,  I  have  spoken. 

Honesty  for  the  honest,  but  deceit 

For  the  deceiving !     Subtlety  alone 

Can  guard  against  itself;  and  when  we  strike 

These  evil  guests,  we  but  forestall  the  blow 

They  aim  at  us. 

ORALL. 

By  all  the  saints,  'tis  true: 
They  think  to  murder  ye! 


526    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


And  find  it  needful. 


ALC. 

We  have  thought  it  o'er, 

ORALL. 


If  ye  be  not  quick, 

There's  not  a  man  of  ye  but  dies !     Ha,  ha ! 
The  spirit  of  blood  is  rising  from  his  den : 
He  knows,  ye'll  feast  him!     And  the  raven  croaks 
Upon  the  hill;  for  ye  will  banquet  him! 

CARV. 

Thou  mak'st  my  blood  cold. — 

PIZ. 

Hark ! — No  words — The  Almagrists ! — 
Is  all  prepared? 

ORALL. 

And  shall  my  master  ask  ? 

Had  the  doomed  fiends  this  deed  of  midnight  schemed, 
They  had  not  planned  it  better. — Hark,  how  hollow 
Their  footsteps  sound  along  the  corridor ! 
For  all  is  lone  and  silent :     Fast  and  dead 
The  guardsmen  sleep   on  their  drugged    cups. — All 

silent, 

Save  the  few  watchers  at  the  door — All  silent, 
All  dumb,  all  blind! — Room  for  Almagro,  room! 
(Enter  ALMAGRO,  SOTELA,  CHRISTOVAL,  JUAN  and  the 
other  ALMAGRISTS.) 

PIZ. 

Hail  to  our  guests!     Son  of  mine  ancient  friend, 
Although  mine  enmity  thou  didst  provoke, 


ORALLOOSSA  527 

I  put  it  by,  and  take  thee  to  my  friendship. 

Let  us  here  quench  all  burnings  of  the  heart, 

As  scandals  to  the  state,  deformities 

Upon  our  soldier  fame ;  and  have  all  Spaniards 

Dwell  in  forbearance,  faith  and  amity. 

What  say'st,  Almagro?     Wilt  thou  gage  thy  truth, 

And  sit  in  friendship  at  my  board  ? 

ALM. 

So  the  saints  speed  me, 
It  is  my  true  desire;  wherein  do  join  me 
These  friends,  whom  I  beseech  your  highness  know. 

PIZ. 

They  are  welcome.     To  your  seats  all,  gentlemen. 
At  my  right  hand,  Almagro;  where  thy  sire 
Was  wont  to  sit. 

ALM. 

Unworthy  I,  or  any, 
To  hold  that  seat,  wherein  my  father  sat. 

PIZ. 

A  bumper  to  his  memory — Pledge  it  all. 
The  noblest  soldier,  had  he  been  but  true, 
E'er  smote  a  heathen. 

ALM. 

My  lord,  the  noblest  soldier, 
And,  by  this  hand,  the  truest! 

Ptz. 

Foolish  boy, 
Thou  anger'st  me,  to  call  him  true  and  noble. 


528    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

What  matchless  marvels  wrought  he  with  his  sword? 
What  people  conquered?  or  what  Inca  slew? 

ORALL. 

Hark,  hark!     What  Inca?     Was  not  that  great  deed 
Left  for  Pizarro? 

PIZ. 

Thou  shalt  feast  thine  eyes 
Upon  the  sacred  robe  and  diadem, 
And  say,  what  hand  but  mine  could  pluck  them  off. 
What!  to  my  cabinet,  for  the  Inca's  spoils; 
Tis  fit  I  show  them  to  this  boastful  boy. 

(Exit  ORALLOOSSA.) 

Why  dost  thou  fume?     Drink  to  that  famous  deed, 
And  him  that  solely  wrought  it. 

ALM. 

Very  solely. 

I  thank  the  saints,  my  father  but  looked  on, 
And  did  not  aid  thee. 

PIZ. 
Hah! 

ALM. 

Shall  I  be  dumb, 

When  thou  dost  bait  me  with  my  father's  wrongs 
And  mock'st  me  with  thy  sins? 

ALC. 
What,  foul-mouthed,  sirrah? 


ORALLOOSSA  529 

ALM. 

Why  didst  thou  call  me  to  thy  board  tonight  ? 
To  be  thy  friend,  or  humble  laughing-stock? 
Strong  as  thou  art,  I  tell  thee,  churlish  Viceroy, 
My  sire,  that  on  the  infamous  scaffold  fell, 
Lies  nobler  in  his  bloody  grave,  than  thou 
Upon  thy  chair  of  greatness. 

CARV. 

Here  is  treason ! 

PIZ. 

Peace,  friends; — I  love  the  spirit  of  the  boy, 
Though  but  a  mad  one. — Shall  I  make  thee  friend? 
Thou  art  of  turbulent  and  traitorous  blood. 
I  called  thee,  not  to  give  thee  hope  to  fawn, 
And  prate  thy  fertile  malice  into  favour ; 
But  to  make  answer,  in  these  midnight  halls, 
For  thy  long  pardoned  frenzy. 

(A  trumpet  is  heard.) 

ALM. 

Look  that  I 

Answer  it  not  too  sharply.     Forsworn  Viceroy, 
Thy  guile  is  met,  thy  treachery  forestalled; 
And  that  same  trump,  that  speaks  thy  city  lost, 
Calls  forth  the  swords  that  slay  thee! — <Draw  and 

smite  i  > 
Throw  wide  the  doors — 

PIZ. 

Ho,  treason ! — 

34 


530   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ALM. 

Draw  and  smite ! 
(The  Almagrists  attack  PIZARRO  and  his  people,) 

PIZ. 

Defend  me,  friend!     What  ho,  my  Pedro,  help! 
(ThePizarrists  aredriven  out;  some  Almagrists  following.) 
<What,  Pedro,  ho!     What,  help!  the  assassins  strike 

me! 
Ho,  Pedro  !> 

(Re-enter  ORALLOOSSA,   as    Inca;    and,   at    another 
entrance,  MANGO  and  Peruvian  Chiefs.) 

ORALL. 

Who  calls  on  Pedro  ? — My  foot  upon  thy  neck ! 
Look  up !  'tis  Oralloossa  calls — the  Inca ! 
Slayer  of  Incas,  he,  thy  slave,  the  Inca ! 
Thus  for  my  murdered  sire !  thus  for  my  people ! — 
Last  of  the  Conquerors,  thy  thrall  is  free ! 

(He  kills  PIZARRO.     They  do  him  homage,  in  a  grand 
tableau,  as  the  Curtain  falls.) 

END   OF  ACT    III. 


ACT  IV 

SCENE  I.  A  Street  in  Lima.  Alarums.  Enter 
DE  CASTRO,  ALCANTARA,  CARVAHAL,  and  others, 
[GONZALO]. 

DE  CASTRO 

You  see,  I  have  authority  to  rule; 

Pizarro  being  dead,  my  charter  makes  me 

His  successor.    In  the  king's  name  obey  me. 

I  have  overlooked  this  deed,  and  ta'en  such  measures 

As  now  preserve  you.    If  ye  be  true  men, 

Lead  on  the  citizens  that  I  have  raised, 

Against  the  palace  and  the  murderers : 

Thence  'gainst  the  brown  assailants  at  the  walls. 

On,  for  our  lives,  and  for  your  conquest,  on! 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  II.  At  the  gates.  Alarums.  Enter  AL- 
MAGRO,  MANCO,  the  Almagrists,  Peruvian  Chiefs, 
ORALLOOSSA,  and  OOALLIE,  retreating. 

ORALL. 

Curst  be  the  treason,  that  has  snatched  this  prey 
Out  of  my  grasp.    False  Manco,  thou  shalt  answer 
This  city's  loss.    Where  are  those  countless  armies, 
I  bade  thee  bring  me?     Where  those  troops,  should 

master 

The  sworded  citizens,  whose  weak  arms  expel  us? 
Give  me  my  armies,  or  I'll  have  thy  head! 


532    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


ALM. 


It  is  too  late.     Hence  to  thy  safer  camp — 
They  sally  on  us! 

ORALL. 

Art  thou  too  leagued  against  me  ? 
Was  not  this  city  mine,  with  all  its  fiends? 
And  now  mine  enemy's? 

ALM. 

It  is  thine  tomorrow. 
I  weep  this  city's  loss  as  much  as  thou. — 

ORALL. 

Bring  up  the  troops. 

ALM. 

I  say,  it  cannot  be. 

Hence  to  the  camp,  all  those  that  love  their  lives. 
Thou  wilt  not  fight  thy  Spanish  foes  alone? 

ORALL. 

Alone,  thou  knave!    What,  are  these  chieftains  all? 
All  that  mine  agent  brings  ?    Traitorous  Manco, 
Did  I  not  charge  thee,  by  the  Inca's  emblem, 
To  bring  thine  armies  to  the  citadel? 
And  hast  thou  brought  not  even  to  the  walls? 
What,  villain  uncle! 


Thou  speak'st  to — 


MANC. 

Stop  thy  railing  tongue: 


ORALLOOSSA  533 

ALM. 

(Apart  to  Manco.) 

Hah — not  yet :  Tis  not  yet  safe — 
Thy  troops  are  lodged  hard  by;  and  on  the  instant, 
When  thou  hast  come  to  them,  thou  shalt  command 
them. 

ORALL. 

My  railing  tongue?     Said  Manco  that  to  me  ? 
To  Oralloossa? 

GOAL. 

O  my  royal  brother, 

Be  not  moved  now;  be  not  now  angry  with  them. 
They  have  mistaken — surely  not  betrayed. 
Leave  first  this  place  of  peril ;  then  discover 
Our  uncle  innocent.     Speak  to  him,  Almagro! 
Is  he  not  innocent,  even  as  thyself? 

ALM. 

Ay,  by  my  troth — as  innocent  as  myself. — 
I  hoped  thou  wert  with  the  Spaniards. 

GOAL. 

Hoped? 

ALM. 

Nay,  thought. 

These  fierce  perturbing  tumults  make  me  mad : 
I  know  not  what  I  say — Hark,  hark!  (Alarums.)  Again 
They  sally  on  us! — Hence  to  the  army. — Come, 
Cling  to  mine  arm. — 


534    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ORALL. 

Come  thou  with  me.     This  night, 
I  think  all  hearts  are  full  of  perfidy. 
My  trust  is  shaken — But  it  is  no  matter: 
I'll  have  them  answer  quickly  at  my  feet. — 
Come  thou  with  me,  for  thou  art  very  guileless, 
And  he  may  be  a  traitor. — Get  ye  on, 
Unto  the  army;  and  if  it  be  loyal, 
All  may  be  answered,  remedied,  forgotten. 

(Exeunt. '  Alarums.} 

(Enter  DE  CASTRO,  ALCANTARA,  CARVAHAL,  and  others 
of  the  Viceroy's  party.) 

DE    CAST. 

Give  arms  to  all,  in  the  king's  name  to  serve  me, 
His  delegated  presence ;  give  all  arms, 
That  all  may  follow  up  this  first  success 
Upon  the  routed  murderers. 

CARV. 

Noble  Viceroy, 

Thine  energy  has  saved  us  from  these  traitors. 
Another  blow — advance  upon  the  villains, 
With  whom  now  march  the  Incas;  seize  on  them, 
The  deified  barbarians,  and  forever 
Secure  against  rebellion. 

DE   CAST. 

Had  ye  sooner 

Of  this  most  treacherous  banquet  given  me  word, 
(As  late,  in  loyal  thoughtfulness,  ye  did,) 
I  had  ta'en  them  in  the  palace, — foul  Almagro, 
The  hot-brained  Incas,  and  their  bloody  crew, 


ORALLOOSSA  535 

All  of  them.    But  let  each  true  Spaniard  arm; 
And,  ere  the  morn,  they  are  our  prisoners. 

ALC. 

<  My  lord,  bethink  you  now,  what  grievous  terror 
Besets  the  citizens.    You  beheld  how  bravely 
They  drove  the  murderers  to  the  gates.     Look  now! 
We  are  deserted.    At  the  gates,  they  knew 
They  followed  Oralloossa !  the  great  dead 
Living  again !  the  Terrible  come  back, 
And  slaying  in  their  city!    Superstition 
And  terror  tie  them  to  their  forted  walls. 
They  will  not  follow  us  against  the  Inca.  > 

DE   CAST. 

Nay,  by  the  rood,  they  shall,  or  fall  like  traitors. 
Proclaim  it  instant  as  mine  ordinance: 
Honour  and  guerdon  to  the  willing,  shame 
And  axes  for  the  fearful.    Quick,  delay  not, 
Or  the  hills  shield  the  murderers  from  vengeance. 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  III.     Among  the  hills,  near  the  Peruvian 
Camp.    Enter  MANCO  and  ALMAGRO. 

ALM. 

If  the  gross  multitudes  see  him,  thou  art  lost : 
They  claim  their  Inca,  and  he  claims  thy  head. 

MANC. 

I  fear  not  that.     They  have  forgotten  him, 
Believe  him  dead,  and  long  have  looked  on  me 
As  lord  and  Inca;  and  my  voice  proclaims  him 
Lunatic  and  impostor.    All  the  chiefs 
Have  sworn  them  mine;  and  if  the  people  doubt, 


536    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

They  add  their  voice  to  his  insanity. 

They  have  denounced  him  such  through  all  the  ranks . 

He  must  be  silenced,  ere  we  meet  the  Spaniards. 

ALM. 

I'd  have  it  so;  or  else  farewell  thy  greatness, 
And  that  I  look  for. 

MANC. 

Hark  to  me,  Almagro, — 

The  throne  I  have,  thou  know'st,  it  shall  be  thine, 
Make  it  but  mine. 

ALM. 

I  understand  thee,  and  remember 
Whereto  I  did  consent.    But  now  think  better. 
His  death  secures  thee :  think  no  more  of  her. 
Her  woman's  rights  are  but  a  feeble  reed, 
Which  thou  may'st  brush  aside — Why  shouldst  thou 
trample  ? 

MANC. 

Is  she  not  daughter  of  the  Incas  ?     Hark ; — 
There  be  a  thousand  here,  that  know,  and  call  her, 
Atahualpa's  daughter.    She  will  bid  them 
Behold  their  Inca  in  the  man  we  wrong, 
And  they  will  listen  and  believe. 

ALM. 

Tis    true.— 

Let  her  be  prisoned  somewhere  in  the  hills, 
Beyond  the  ear  of  doubters. 

MANC. 

I  did  think  thee 
Wiser  than  this.     There  is  no  place  so  safe, 


ORALLOOSSA  537 

But  the  caged  witness  of  a  crime  may  speak, 
And  some  one  catch  the  echo — none,  but  one; — 
<Dost  thou  not  understand? — No  place,  but  one.  > 
They  would  demand,  too,  why  I  dungeoned  her: 
But  when  I  doom  her,  as  a  blot  that  shames 
The  Inca's  purity,  'tis  the  Inca's  law, 
And  rightful  justice;  and  all  men  are  silent. — 
The  maid  must  die, — and  see  thou  art  prepared. 

(Exit,) 

<ALM. 

And  why  should  I  not  have  it  as  he  wills  ? 
Why  weigh  the  value  of  a  poor  maid's  life 
Against  the  golden  balance  of  a  crown  ? 
Ambition  startles  not  at  ghastly  blood, 
Nor  stumbles,  conscience-harrowed,  at  a  corse. 
And  should  the  aspiring  man,  that  makes  his  gain 
Of  others'  hurts,  not  hurt  himself  for  gain? 
Not,  where  he  stabs  another  for  a  purse, 
Prick  his  own  bosom,  for  a  dearer  price, 
And  wound  his  heart,  to  laurel-crown  his  head? 
Blossoms  of  nature,  ye  should  never  grow 
In  hearts  that  are  ambitious ;  since  the  tempter 
Plucks  ye,  like  weeds,  away,  till  naught  takes  root, 
Save  the  rough  tares  of  sterile  selfishness. 
Love,  pity,  friendship,  gratitude,  away 
From  such  a  breast,  for  ye  would  make  it  virtuous; 
And,  virtue,  hence,  for  ye  would  keep  it  lowly. — 
But  yet  she  shall  not  die. — What,  Christoval,   wel 
come  !  > 

(Enter  CHRISTOVAL.) 
<  I  did  desire  you.  > 


538    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CHRIST. 

Will  you  tell  me,  cousin, 

Whether  or  not  there's  such  a  thing  as  honesty — 
I  say,  sir,  honesty — grows  in  Peru? 

ALM. 

Among  the  fools. 

CHRIST. 

Why  then,  by  this  right  hand, 
I  would  that  heaven  had  made  me  very  simple, 
<  And  all  my  friends  e'en  noddies.    Hark  ye,  cousin ;  > 
'Tis  better  to  be  honest  and  a  fool, 
Than  a  wise  man  and  villain. 

ALM. 

Pho — attend  me. 
I  have  a  thing  to  say— 

<  CHRIST. 

Never  believe  me, 

But  there  is  villanous  talk  of  treachery 
Tow'rds  the  young  Inca,  villanous  treachery. 

ALM. 

Did  I  not  speak  to  thee  of  this  before? 
Fy;  were  thy  prattle  sure  to  save  his  life, 
His  first  act  would  be,  to  make  sure  of  thine. 
Give  me  no  more  of  this,  but  hearken  to  me.  > 
Thou  askedst  once,  what  mischief  'twas,  was  schemed 
Against  the  Coya. 

CHRIST. 

Ay,  against  the  Coya. 

Let  me  hear  that,  and  know  what  precious  rascal 
Plots  malice  'gainst  a  woman. 


ORALLOOSSA  539 

ALM. 

For  the  plotter, 
It  is  her  uncle,  Manco. 

CHRIST. 

Her  uncle,  Manco ! 
A  serpent-souled  barbarian ! 

ALM. 

Thou  shouldst  know, 

The  Incas  held  the  honour  of  their  daughters, 
As  Roman  chiefs  the  purity  of  Vestals, 
Holy  and  heavenly ;  and  its  loss  did  visit 
With  the  same  punishment,  a  living  tomb. — 
A  living  tomb  they  dig  for  Ooallie. 

CHRIST. 

What,    'slife!    and    you    permit    them?       < Cousin 

Almagro, 

If  you  consent  to  this,  you  are  a  rogue. — 
Albeit  my  cousin,  yet  a  knavish  rogue.  > 

ALM. 

Peace,  interrupt  me  not.    If  I  consent, 

It  is  to  save  her  from  her  uncle's  hate, 

Which  else  will  find  some  deadlier  instrument. 

<I   had  hoped  indeed   she  had  lingered  with    the 

Spaniards : 

Captivity  had  saved  her  for  a  time. — 
Whate'er  I  do,  be  sure,  it  is  for  good,— 
To  shield  my  friends,  and  thwart  my  enemies.  > 
Therefore,  whate'er  thou  seest  to  follow  now, 
Though  of  a  seeming  front  of  villany, 
Let  not  thy  honest  nature  start  at  it. 


540   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

If  Manco  doom  this  princess  to  the  grave, 
Give  not  thine  anger  voice;  for,  after  that, 
If  thou  hast  held  thy  peace,  thine  arm  shall  save  her. 

CHRIST. 

Nay,  if  there  is  no  harm,  I  will  be  silent. 
But  all  these  crooked  tricks,  I  like  them  not, 
These  dark  and  shuffling  ways  to  do  one  good : 
I  had  rather  go  right  forward,  and  by  daylight. 
<But  all's  here  full  of  clouds  and  craftiness. 
I  would  I  were  in  mine  own  land  again : 
There's  many  very  honest  people  there.  > 

ALM. 

I'll  take  thee  to  an  aged  reverend  friar, 

That  is  my  friend;  and  show  thee  how,  with  him 

To  aid  and  counsel,  when  the  burial's  o'er — 

CHRIST. 

The  burial!    What,  they  will  not  bury  her? 

ALM. 

There  is  a  cavern  in  the  hill  hard  by, 

Where,  though  walled  up,  a  man  may  live  for  days, 

And  find  heaven's  sweet  and  wholesome  breath  still 

come, 

Through  hidden  crannies,  freshly  to  his  lips. 
The  solemn  doom  (a  solemn  mockery,) 
No  sooner  o'er,  and  friendly  night  returned, 
Ye  shall  be  ready  with  your  picks  and  spades, 
To  give  her  life  and  liberty. — But  hark! 
Some  one  approaches. — By  and  by,  I'll  show  thee 
More  of  this  matter — Hah ! 

(Enter  OOALLIE.) 


ORALLOOSSA  541 

<  CHRIST. 

TheCoya!— 'Slife, 
This  plot  against  her  is  most  damnable.  > 

GOAL. 

Is't  thou,  Almagro?    O,  I  am  very  glad, — 
And  sorry  too — to  find  thee  in  this  camp. 

ALM. 
Thou  shouldst  be  hidden  from  the  people's  gaze. 

GOAL. 

Tell  me,  Almagro,  do  they  frown  on  thee  too? 
Dost  thou  not  share  his  peril? 

ALM. 

There  is  no  peril. 

GOAL. 

Oh,  but  there  is,  Almagro;  hate  and  treachery 
Working  against  my  brother;  and,  I  fear, 
My  uncle  is  not  true,  the  chiefs  disloyal : 
They  group  together  and,  with  frowning  eyes, 
Follow  his  steps;  and  he  is  chafed  and  moody. — 
Nay,  I  did  hear  them,  with  seditious  whispers, 
Call  him  a  crazed  impostor.    Pray,  believe  me, 
Nor  scorn  my  words,  because  I  am  a  foolish  girl, 
Nor  think  my  fearful  fancy  coins  these  ills. 
<  I  heard  them  speak,  and  use  such  scowling  looks 
As  honest  men  ne'er  wear.  >     I  saw  too,  when 
My  brother  would  have  passed  towards  the  army, 
They  raised  their  mutinous  spears  against  his  breast, 
And  said  the  Inca  charged  them  thus. — The  Inca! 
My  brother  is  the  Inca. 


542    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ALM. 

I  must  hence : 
I  have  a  duty  which  excuses  me. 

GOAL. 

Oh,  if  thou  leav'st  me,  keep  thine  eye  upon  them, 
Lest,  by  some  treachery,  they  take  thy  life. 

ALM. 

Away — Why  dost  thou  hold  me? 

(Exit.) 

GOAL. 

Ah,  Almagro! — 

Have  I  not  angered  him,  that  he  should  part 
So  roughly  from  me? 

CHRIST. 

Princess,  be  of  good  cheer. 
If  thou  suspect  him  for  a  knave,  ne'er  trust  me 
But  I  am  half  a  doubter  in  that  kind. 
But  ne'ertheless,  keep  thou  a  valiant  heart; 
For,  by  mine  honesty,  thou  shalt  be  saved. 

(Exit.) 

GOAL. 

/  shall  be  saved!     Why  then  I  am  in  peril ; 
And  yet  Almagro  leaves  me !    Nay,  I  know, 
The  rest  are  false,  but  how  can  he  be  so  ? 

ORALL. 

(Within.) 

Traitors  and  slaves !     I'll  have  ye  torn  with  dogs — 
Way  for  the  Inca ! — 


ORALLOOSSA  543 

GOAL. 

Out,  alas !  my  brother ! 

ORALL. 

(Within.) 

Traitorous  chiefs !  fling  ye  your  bodies  thus 
Before  my  path,  and  are  not  made  my  footstools? 
Way  for  the  Inca ! — 

(Enter  ORALLOOSSA,  followed  by  Peruvian 
Chiefs.) 

I  will  have  ye  thrown 

To  feed  the  crocodiles !  traitors  that  ye  are, 
Villains  and  traitors ! 

GOAL. 

O  my  brother !  Inca ! 

ORALL. 

Ha,  ha!  thou  fool,  call'st  thou  this  cozened  slave 
The  Inca?    Why  thou  seest,  these  beggar  curs, 
How  they  may  bait  me ! 

00  AL. 

O  dear  brother,  hear  me: 
This  place  is  full  of  treachery;  thine  uncle— 

ORALL. 

My  slave! — 

GOAL. 

Is  turned  against  thee,  and  the  chiefs 
Basely  possest. 


544    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ORALL. 

Dost  thou  not  look  to  die  ? 
Thou  wert  the  gaze  of  one's  fidelity, 
And  he  is  false  as  darkness. 

GOAL. 

True  as  day; 

Kill  me,  if  he  be  not.    Would  I  not  die, 
To  be  thy  ransome  from  this  treachery? 
Yet  is  his  faith  more  stable  than  my  life, — 
He  would  not  give  his  honour,  even  to  save  thee. 

ORALL. 

These  dogs,  thou  seest !  they  raise  their  spears  against 

me; 

They  course  me  on, — like  flocking  wolves,  that  follow 
The  wounded  llama  on  his  friendless  path, 
So  do  they  course  me  wheresoe'er  I  go. 
Thou  cozening  wretch,  thou  bring'st  me  to  a  trap, 
Betray 'st  me  to  my  wolfish  enemies, 
And  mak'st  me  mad  and  pitiful. 

GOAL. 

O  dear  brother, 

Fly  from  their  rage  then,  while  thou  may'st:  be  safe, 
Then  kill,  if  I  have  wronged  thee. 

ORALL. 

Come  with  me. — 

Here,  in  thine  ear — My  uncle  is  a  villain; 
The  chiefs  are  traitors.    Get  thee  to  the  camp, 
And  tell  my  people,  how,  this  hour,  foul  falsehood 
Hedges  their  Inca  from  them.    Do  me  this, 
And  by  my  father's  clouded  face,  these  rogues 


ORALLOOSSA  545 

Shall  die  like  dogs,  like  dogs! — Vile  runagates, 

Will  you  permit  your  Inca  seek  your  Inca, 

And  do  obeisance  to  him  ?    Inca  to  Inca  ? 

Will  you  permit  him?    Follow,  curs,  and  help  him 

To  work  this  regicidal  sacrilege. 

Follow  me,  curs — the  Inca  to  the  Inca ! 

(Exeunt  ORALLOOSSA  and  OOALLIE,  sever 
ally,  and  each  followed  by  Chiefs.) 

SCENE  IV.  Before  the  Peruvian  Camp.  MANCO 
throned,  and  surrounded  by  the  Almagrists  and  Chiefs. 
Peruvians  covering  the  hills. 

ALM. 

Why  look  ye  gloomy,  soldiers  of  Castile, 

Upon  this  strange  and  solemn  preparation  ? 

Call  it  perfidious  and  dishonourable, 

Call  it  impiety  and  ingratitude; 

Yet  is  this  deed,  as  none  but  this  can  be, 

The  warrant  of  your  lives,  your  weal,  and  fortunes. 

ORALL. 

(Within.) 
Way  for  the  Inca ! 

MANC. 

Stand  all  fast  and  ready, 
Lest  in  his  fury  and  his  desperation, 
His  arm  be  fatal. 


Weaponless  to  us. 

35 


ALM. 
Fear  not  thou;  he  comes 


546    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ORALL. 

(Within.) 
Way  for  the  Inca,  way ! 

(Enter  ORALLOOSSA,  followed  by  Chiefs,  who  occupy 
the  entrances.) 

Villain  and  slave,  that  sit'st  upon  the  throne, 
Tell  me  (for  these  strange  sights  and  stranger  deeds, 
These  marvellous,  monstrous  jugglings  of  today, 
Have  set  me  mad).    What  insane  wretch  art  thou, 
And  these  about  thee?    What  am  I,  that  creep, 
Among  Peruvians,  hunted  and  opposed, 
Frowned  on,  surrounded,  met  by  clubs  and  spears, 
And  bade  to  call  thee  Inca  ?    What  art  thou  ? 

MANC. 

Manco,  the  Inca. 

ORALL. 

Hah!  the  Inca,   Manco? 

MANC. 
And  thou, — 

ORAtL. 

Andl?- 

MANC. 

That  most  unhappy  madman, — 

ORALL. 

Madman ! — 


ORALLOOSSA  547 

MANC. 

That,  in  the  Viceroy's  fall  and  death, 
Didst  well  deserve  our  favour  and  affection ; 
But  by  the  form  which  thy  distraction  takes, 
(At  no  less  aiming  than  the  name  and  rule 
Of  perished  Oralloossa,)  now  dost  force  us 
To  put  restraint  upon  thee. 


Am  I  not  Oralloossa? 


ORALL. 

Perished  Oralloossa! 

MANC. 

Thou,  poor  maniac ! 


ORALL. 

Look  on  me,  Manco, — brother  of  my  sire, — 
I  will  forgive  thee,  if  thine  eyes  are  dim, 
Aged  and  dim — Look  on  me,  knave  forsworn! 
Unnatural  uncle!  ere  I  take  thy  life; 
Look  on  my  face,  and  leave  thy  stolen  throne, 
And  sue  for  pardon,  ere  I  slay  thee. 

MANC. 

Rail  on; 

Yet  art  thou  safe  in  thine  infirmity. 

ORALL. 

Speak  him,  Almagro,  if  thou  art  not  false; 
Tell  thou  mine  uncle,  'tis  the  Inca  speaks. 

ALM. 

Marry  not  I.    I  know  thee  very  well, — 

Pedro  the  bondman, — my  great  sire's  betrayer; 


548    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

For  which  black  deed,  the  heavens  have  struck  thy 

brain 
With  this  sore  madness. 


ORALL. 

Talk'st  thou  of  betraying? 
Now  can  I  think  that  I  indeed  am  mad, 
To  think  thee  honest  to  thy  love  or  me. — 
Doth  no  one  know  me  ?    None  of  those,  for  whom 
I  sold  my  heritage?    What,  not  thou?  nor  thou? 
Chiefs  that  have  battled  at  my  side,  and  struck 
For  Peru  and  for  Oralloossa?    Death ! 
Ye  stony  traitors,  have  ye  all  forsook  me? — 
Hark !    Ye  Peruvians  thronging  on  the  hills, 
My  children  and  my  people !  look  upon  me : 
I  am  your  Inca,  and  will  ye  forsake  me  ? 
For  ye,  I  gave  my  sceptre  to  mine  uncle; 
To  win  ye  wisdom,  made  myself  a  slave; 
To  quell  your  foes,  and  make  ye  free  and  great, 
Wrapped  the  pure  lustre  of  my  dignity 
In  a  foul  cloak  of  treachery  and  lies, 
In  servile,  base  and  currish  occupation, — 
And  slew  for  ye  your  blood-stained  Conquerors. 
Speak  forth,  Peruvians, — did  I  do  ye  this, 
And  now  no  more  ye  know  your  Inca? — Hah! 
Are  ye  all  turned  to  stones?    What,  not  one  voice, 
To  bid  me  welcome  to  my  throne  again? 
Nay,  then  'tis  true;  and  I  or  rave  or  sleep; 
And  Oralloossa  is  a  dream. — Almagro, 
Dost  thou  remember  Ooallie?    Bethink  thee, 
And  say,  thou  didst  not  set  them  on  to  this ; 
Say,  thou  hast  no  part  in  this  treachery. 


ORALLOOSSA  549 

ALM. 

Then  should  I  lie,  more  deeply  than  when  first 

I  trapped  thy  soul. — Thou  devilish  villain!  thou, 

Steeped  to  the  liver  in  my  father's  blood, — 

His  friend  and  viper,  his  trust  and  his  destroyer, — 

Bane  of  his  fortunes,  and  the  tool  of  mine, — 

Will  it  not  smite  thy  cozened  heart,  to  know 

I  used  thee?    I  enthralled  thee?  and  did  make  thee, 

When  thou  wert  wisest,  then  the  most  my  fool, 

When  thou  wert  freest,  tnen  the  most  my  slave? 

Thou  think'st,  'tis  Manco  and  thy  people  doom  thee: 

Be  this  thy  comfort — it  is  I  that  do  it! 


ORALL. 

The  thunder  sleeps:  else  should  two  hot  bolts  strike 

us — 

Me  for  my  madness,  thee  for  thy  deceit. 
I  was  very  honest  with  thee,  and  did  mean  thee 
More,  for  the  Coya's  sake,  than  thou  didst  dream. 
But  'tis  no  matter  now :  I  am  not  Inca. — 
Perhaps  ye  will  kill  me — Pray  ye,  do  it  quick: 
All  here  is  withered,  and  I  should  not  live: 
I  only  breathe  and  dream, — no  more. — 

GOAL. 

(Within,} 

Ho,  brother! 


Almagro,  brother! — 


ORALL. 

Another  victim  for  ye! — 


550    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

(Enter  OOALLIE,  pursued.    ORALLOOSSA  seizes  her.) 

Look,  thou  infernal  and  pernicious  fiend! 

This  was  thy  gage,  and  now  shall  perish  for  ye ! 

(They  rush  towards  him.) 
Ha !  ha ! — a  knife — blood — blood — 
(He  falls  in  a  swoon.) 

GOAL. 

Alas,  my  brother ! 

Help,  help,  Almagro! — Do  not  tear  me  from  him: 
There's  none  but  me  to  love  him. — O  Almagro! 
Thou  shouldst  not  do  this  thing. 

MANC. 

Drag  her  away. — 

GOAL. 

Wilt  thou  (To  ALM.)  not  look  upon  me? — Pray  you, 

uncle, 
Let  not  my  brother  die. 

(They  raise  up  ORALLOOSSA.) 

MANC. 

Thy  brother,  woman! 
Is  this  the  sequel  of  thy  shame?  that  thou, 
To  be  defended  in  thy  wantonness, 
Leagu'st  with  this  man,  and  madly  call'st  him  Inca? 
Unhappy  wretch,  mark  thou  the  punishment. 
Chiefs  and  Peruvians,  behold  the  daughter 
Of  Incas,  and  the  Conqueror's  paramour! 
Her  doom  is  spoken  by  our  ancient  laws : 
A  grave  for  her  dishonour. 


ORALLOOSSA  551 

GOAL. 

0  mine  uncle ! — 

Almagro,  speak;  am  I  not  innocent? — 
God  of  the  sun,  thou  turn'st  away  thine  eyes! — 
Brother  and  Inca!  hark,  they  doom  my  death: 
Thou  art  the  Inca,  and  canst  save  me. 

ORALL. 

I! 

Save  thee? — a  paramour? — the  laws? — a  grave? — 
Thou  root'st  out  all  my  father's  drooping  stock, 
Nor  leav'st  a  leaf  to  wither.    Now  I  know  thee! 
Why  should  I  speak  with  thee,  that  art  a  fiend? 
I'll  turn  me  to  the  Spaniards.    Hark,  Almagro: 
Thou  hast  undone  me — I  forgive  thee  that ; 
Cajoled  me  to  the  grave — but  I  forgive  thee: 
Thou  art  not  yet  so  base  as  mine  own  people : 
I  say,  I  pardon  thee — But  look  to  her; 
It  needs  not  she  should  die.    Art  thou  still  silent? 
Thou  know'st,  thou  hell-cat,  that,  when  I  had  doomed 

thee, 

This  young  wretch  saved;  my  knife  was  at  thy  throat, 
When  she  unedged  it;  I  did  seek  thy  heart, 
And  she  did  shield  thee  with  her  bosom. — Look, 
She  is  very  innocent,  very  pure  and  sinless: 
Wilt  thou  not  save  her?    Q  then  madness  seize  thee, 
Leper  thy  brain,  and  break  thy  heart  by  inches! — 
Spaniards,  that  are  my  hateful  enemies, 
Can  ye  look  on,  and  see  this  maiden  murdered? 
Innocent  murdered  ? 


Cousin  Almagro — 


CHRIST. 

By  our  lady,  no ! 


552    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ALM. 

Hist !    Art  thou  grown  mad  ? 
Remember ! — 

ORALL. 

I  did  wrong  thee. — Speak  again : 

Thou  art  his  kinsman — Nay,  and  so  am  I : 

That  will  not  move.    But  speak  again,  I  pray  thee. 

Wilt  thou  be  silent,  when  thy  voice  can  save  her? 

MANC. 

The  doom  is  past — the  sin  is  manifest. 

ORALL. 

False  churl,  thou  doom'st  her  with  a  lie ! — 

MANC. 

Away! 

(They  seize  upon  OOALLIE  and  ORALLOOSSA.) 
Away  with  both.    Our  laws  cannot  be  broken. 

ORALL. 

Grant  she  be  doomed  then  by  those  laws,  base  uncle, 
I  am  the  Inca,  and  I  abrogate  them. — 
She  shall  not  die. — 

MANC. 

Away  with  both — the  madman 
Unto  his  cell,  the  Coy  a  to  her  grave ! 

(ORALLOOSSA  and  OOALLIE  are  forced  away  at  different 
sides,  as  the  curtain  falls.) 

END  OF  ACT  IV. 


ACT  V 

SCENE  I.  The  Camp  of  the  Peruvians.  Enter 
ALMAGRO,  SOTELA,  CHRISTOVAL,  JUAN,  and  other 
Almagrists. 

ALM. 

Frown  not  upon  me,  friends,  nor,  rashly  angered, 
Thwart  the  fair  fortunes  that  now  smile  upon  us. 
The  foulest  chapter  of  our  fate  is  done, 
And  all  the  rest  is  just  and  prosperous. 

SOT. 

If  he,  that's  chained  now  in  yon  crag-built  tower, 
Be  Oralloossa,  that  which  follows  after, 
Cannot  be  just;  but  'tis  enough,  'tis  wise. 
Doth  he  still  live? 

ALM. 

Ay,  if  his  spirit's  fire 

Have  left  it  unconsumed.    Leave  him  to  Manco. 
I  heard  the  Inca  give  to  certain  chiefs 
Such  hints,  as  are  a  sentence. 

SOT. 

And  the  Coy  a  ? 

Shall  she  still  slumber  in  the  dreary  cave  ? 

553 


554    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


ALM. 

'Tis  now  the  hour  the  priest  should  be  prepared. 
What  say'st  thou,  cousin? 

CHRIST. 

I  wait  his  reverence. 

He  hath  gone  into  the  dungeon,  to  prepare 
The  downfaln  Inca  for  his  doom:  God  speed  him. 
'Tis  time  the  picks  were  plying;  for  no  man 
Can  say  what  horrors,  in  that  secret  den, 
May  war  with  life. —  <  I  would  I  were  home  again ! —  > 
The  Viceroy's  army  too  approaches  us : 
Who  knows,  these  fooled  Peruvians  will  fight 
For  any  chief,  but  him  that's  their  true  master? 

ALM. 

Fear  not  for  that. — Friends  to  your  posts  and  charges. 
<  Come  thou  (To  CHRIST.)  with  me.     I  must  instruct 

thee  yet 
What  more  to  counsel  for  this  luckless  maid.  > 

(Exeunt.) l 

1  The  acting  version  eliminates  Sc.  II,  but  adds  at  this  point 
the  following  lines,  connecting  Sc.  I  and  Sc.  III. 

['Tis  Juan  comes — what's  this  his  changed  face, 

Pale  herald  of  calamity?  (Enter  JUAN.) 

Thou  has  been  fellow  to  a  fear. 

What  hast  thou  known? 

JUAN 

A  doom'd  one's  desperation, 

Oralloossa's  rage — the  Friar's  mortal  throes. 

CHRIST. 

The  Friar's. 


ORALLOOSSA  555 

<  SCENE  II.    A  room  in  an  old  tower.    ORALLOOSSA 
discovered.    Enter  the  Priest  and  a  Peruvian  Chief. 

PRIEST 

Is  that  the  prisoner?    Miserable  wretch! — 
Nay,  get  thee  gone;  leave  me  alone  with  him, 
To  work  upon  his  spirit  as  I  may. 

(Exit  Chief.) 

Captive,  arise;  the  fatal  hour  comes  on, 

When  thou  must  hide  thy  misery  in  the  grave. — 

Are  thy  chains  heavy,  that  thou  canst  not  rise? 

JUAN 

Cold  as  the  caverned  rocks  he  lies, 
The  cell  unbarred  the  Inca  strangled  him ; 
The  arrowy  sun  shaft  flashed  athwart  the  gloom, 
Its  potent  ray  aroused  from  seeming  death. 
The  prisoner's  mighty  form,  with  fierceness  fired. 
"My  father,  lo!"  he  cried,  and  madly  shook 
Aloft  his  iron  bonds — the  Friar  quailed; 
Overcome  by  terror  to  the  earth  he  fell, 
And  on  his  throat  the  furious  Indian  trod. 

ALM. 

The  aged  prelate  slain ! 

JUAN 

Mine  were  his  dying  words — 
The  prisoner. 

ALM. 

Aye  of  him. 


Tracking  his  path  with  gall. 

Strike  for  your  lives.] r 
1  See  Sc.  III. 


JUAN 

He  fled  afar, 


ALM. 

Escaped. 


556   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ORALL. 

Chains? — Look — they  have  rotted. — But  there  was  no 

need, 

When  my  heart  wither 'd. — Art  thou  come  to  slay  me? 
My  breast  is  open  to  thee — Strike,  and  deeply: 
'Twere  better  I  were  graved. 

PRIEST 

Unhappy  prince, 
My  mission  is  of  mercy,  not  of  murder. 

ORALL. 

Wilt  thou  not  strike?     But  that  thou  know'st,  to  kill 

me 

Would  do  me  joy,  thou  wouldst  not  falter  now. 
All  things  oppress;  the  very  chains  drop  off, 
To  mock  me  with  the  thought  of  liberty. — 
But  then  the  iron  still  is  at  my  heart. 

PRIEST 

Alas,  no  longer  ponder  on  thy  griefs; 

But  give  thy  thoughts  to  death,  and  that  that's  after. 

Thou  wert  a  Christian  once,  and  shouldst  be  yet. 

ORALL. 

I  was  an  Inca  once,  and  should  be  yet; 
That  was  a  dream:  I  was  a  man,  and  should  be; 
But  that  was  madness.    Like  the  fool,  that  lies 
On  earth  and  rags,  and  dreams  his  soul  inhabits 
The  golden-canopied  chambers  of  a  palace, — 
So  lay  I  on  my  bleak  and  flinty  floor, 


ORALLOOSSA  557 

And  built  me  gorgeous  nothings ;  wherein  I  moved 
Among  sweet  visages, — but  they  were  fiends. 
They  wreathed  a  coronet  round  my  brow — 'twas  fire ; 
And  round  mine  arm  the  royal  mantle — ashes : 
Made  me  a  sceptre  of  a  chain — and  look! 
'Tis  broke — my  sceptre  and  my  chain:  And  lo, 
A  delicate  angel  grew  upon  mine  eye — 
Dust,  dust  and  death! 

PRIEST 

No  more  of  this  bethink  thee ; 
But  of  thy  holy  faith,  and  of  thy  sins; 
Of  death  and  judgment,  for  they  come  upon  thee; 
Of  heaven  and  hell;  of  those  that  watch  thy  fate, 
The  awaiting  angels — 

ORALL. 

Fiends  and  demons  all! 
There  was  but  one  that  was  an  angel,  and 
The  clod  lies  on  her  bosom. — Wilt  thou  kill  me? 
Behold,  I  will  not  harm  thee.    If  I  broke 
The  links  that  bound  me,  wherefore  should  I  fly? 
And  whither?    I  should  hunt  me  but  a  grave. 
Silence,  and  darkness,  and  forgetfulness. 

PRIEST 

Ah  me,  the  grave  is  nearer  than  thy  wish. 
The  coming  Viceroy  fills  all  with  affright, 
And  hurries  on  thy  execution. 


I  slew  the  Viceroy ! 


ORALL. 

The  Viceroy ! 


558    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PRIEST 

Yes,  cajoled  Pizarro. 

Another  holds  the  sceptre,  and  with  armies 
Hourly  increasing,  in  these  hills  surrounds  us. 

ORALL. 

With  Spaniards? 

PRIEST 

Ay.     And  had  they  but  a  guide, 
To  thread  the  desert  paths  unto  our  camp, 
We  needs  must  perish. — 

ORALL. 

Hah,  hah!    The  sun  is  up! 
The  cloud  has  left  his  frowning  countenance, 
And  I  shall  set  with  splendour. — Hearken,  man! 
Ere  I  do  die,  the  demons  that  betrayed  me, 
Shall  know  the  avenger!    Yea,  I  will  live  on, 
To  make  requital.    For  the  knaves  that  marred  me, 
They  shall  e'en  perish;  for  those  things,  that  were 
My  house,  and  knew  me  not, — my  forsworn  people, 
That  cast  me  off, — I  give  them  to  the  enslaver ! 
Fit  for  naught  else — it  is  their  destiny ! 

PRIEST 

Do  me  no  violence — 

ORALL. 

To  my  dungeon  door! 
To  bid  my  keeper  open  to  thee. — If 
Thou  stirr'st,  or  speak'st  a  word  but  that  I  bid  thee, 
I'll  hurl  thee  from  the  cliff,  to  feed  the  condors. — 
Bid  him  to  open  wide,  and — for  my  vengeance! 

(Exit,  dragging  the  Priest. )> 


ORALLOOSSA  559 

SCENE  III.  A  part  of  the  Peruvian  Camp.  Cries 
and  shouts. — Enter  ALMAGRO,  SOTELA,  CHRISTOVAL, 
and  JUAN. 

ALM. 

Strike  for  your  lives !    A  thousand  marks  of  gold 
To  him  that  stops  or  slays  him. 

SOT. 

Nay,  'tis  fruitless. 

Heaven,  that  was  angered  at  our  treachery, 
Preserves  him  for  our  punishment. 

ALM. 

Behold! 

They  flag,  and  follow  not !    <  Oh  heaven,  with  curses 
Punish  this  villain  priest ! 

SOT. 

And  has  heaven  not? 
His  mangled  corse  at  the  rock's  basis  lies, 
The  first  blood-offering  of  our  destiny. 
And  what  shall  follow  now  but  woe  and  ruin?> 
He  will  gain  from  us  his  Peruvians, 
And  leave  us  friendless  to  the  Viceroy. 

CHRIST. 

Yea: 

This  is't  to  be  dishonest!    I  did  think, 

There  could  no  good  come  of  such  knavish  ways. 

ALM. 

Why  dost  thou  prate  thus  ?    All  is  not  yet  lost. 
Interest  and  fear  must  keep  the  Inca  ours; 
And  a  quick  moved  assault  of  all  our  forces, 
May  lame,  or  kill,  the  enemy. 


56o     DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SOT. 

This  is  best, — 
Instant  assault. 

CHRIST. 

Why  I  will  fight  with  any. 
But  while  we  talk  of  death,  must  we  forget 
The  buried  princess? 

ALM. 

Do  what  thou  wilt,  and  quickly. 

CHRIST. 

It  is  this  wrong  to  her  that  weighs  thee  down, 
And  sets  the  Saints  against  thee. 

ALM. 

Save  her  life. 

If  that  thou  canst,  and  now  no  more  reproach  me. 
Hence  to  the  cave:  and  come  with  me,  the  rest, 
To  spur  the  Inca  to  some  stratagem, 
Some  feat,  may  save  us,  though  the  captive  fly. 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE    IV.     The    Viceregal    Camp.      Enter    DE 
CASTRO,  ALCANTARA,  and  other  Spaniards. 

DE  CAST. 

This  is  the  act  of  madness, — Oralloossa, 

The  only  leader  that  could  general  them, 

Dethroned;  and,  in  his  place,  the  fireless  Manco, 

Or  the  hot  boy,  Almagro.    It  is  thus, 

Heaven,  when  'twould  punish  treachery,  doth  arm 

Its  rage  against  itself.    It  is  the  scorpion, 


ORALLOOSSA  561 

Girded  by  fiery  troubles,  whose  mad  fury 
Finds  all  its  venom  aimed  but  at  itself. 
Was  it  not  said,  they  had  resolved  his  death  ? 

ALC. 
Even  so,  my  lord. 

DE  CAST. 

Their  anger  aids  us  well. 

That  fallen  chief,  ere  this,  had  struck  some  blow; 
But  they  deliberate. 

ALC. 

Were  it  not  safest, 

T'  entrench  here  quickly,  lest  their  countless  thousands 
Should  e'en  surround  us? 

DE  CAST. 

Nay,  we  will  march  on, 
And  with  no  fear  of  this  rude  multitude. 
<  The  virtue  of  an  army  lies  not  in 
The  stormy  members,  but  in  the  sole  head 
That  guides  and  governs, — in  our  day,  at  least, 
While  men,  like  ignorant  beasts  of  burthen,  only 
Do  well,  when  well  directed :  The  self  same  squadrons, 
With  that  man,  who  will  conquer  all  the  world, 
With  this,  will  fly  the  mere  frown  of  a  foe. 
Perhaps,  in  future  times,  when  men  become, 
What  heaven  ordained  them,  each  himself  a  man, 
The  vigour  then  of  martialness  will  rest 
Less  with  the  leader  than  the  led;  and  armies, 
Ungeneralled,  unadvised,  will  deeds  achieve, 
That  shall  fill  earth  and  history  with  their  glory.  > 

36 


562    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Find  me  a  guide  can  lead  me  through  these  rocks, 
And  ye  shall  see  these  madmen  at  our  feet. — 
What  thing  is  that — what  shape  of  dust  and  blood — 
They  bring  before  me? — Speak,  what  art  thou? 

(Enter  CARVAHAL   [CORDOVA]   leading   ORALLOOSSA, 
wounded.) 

ORALL. 

Vengeance ! 
I  shall  not  die,  until  I  have  my  vengeance. 

CARV. 

This  man,  my  lord,  our  advanced  posts  received, 
A  fugitive  from  the  foe,  and  hotly  followed, 
And  as  thou  seest,  pursued  almost  to  death. 

DE  CAST. 

What  art  thou,  bleeding  wretch? 

ORALL. 

Your  slave,  the  Inca ! 

DE  CAST. 

Hah !  dost  thou  say  ? — 

ORALL. 

Your  slave,  the  holy  Inca! 

King  of  these  hills  and  herds,  your  self -sworn  slave: 
Child  of  the  deity,  and  yet  your  slave; 
That  wretch,  that  slave,  the  Inca  Oralloossa! 


ORALLOOSSA  563 


DE  CAST. 

Most  wretched  man,  art  thou  at  last  forsook 

Of  those  that  spurred  thee  to  thy  deeds  of  blood? 

ORALL. 

Forsook,  cast  off,  cajoled,  betrayed,  destroyed! 
My  people  gave  me  to  mine  enemies. 
Fettered  and  mocked  me,  smote  me  on  the  face, 
And  filled  my  body  with  these  wells  of  death, 
And  sent  me  to  the  Spaniard  for  revenge ! 
I  am  thy  slave  now ;  put  thy  chains  upon  me, 
And  let  me  serve  thee! — I  will  teach  thee  how 
To  creep  upon  those  wolves,  that  were  Peruvians, 
And  smite  them  with  the  sword.    They  gave  me  up, 
And  I  do  give  them  to  thee  for  a  prey, — 
To  be  your  footballs  and  your  slaves  forever. 

DE  CAST. 

Poor  wretch,  thou  ravest! 

ORALL. 

Art  thou  not  a  man? 

And  wilt  thou  not  have  blood  ?    Chain  me,  and  follow : 
Thou  shalt  have  Manco  for  thy  knife ;  Almagro 
For  ropes  and  flames;  my  people  for  your  beasts. 
They  would  be  slaves,  and  I  will  have  them  so. 
Will  you  your  anger  and  your  vengeance  glut  ? 
Will  you  have  blood?    Almagro's  blood?   his  heart's 

blood? 

Chain  me  and  follow  me, — ye  shall  have  all; 
For  your  revenge  but  bears  me  on  to  mine. 


564   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

<DE  CAST. 

How  shall  I  trust  thee,  that  hast  ever  been 
The  foe  of  Spaniards? 

ORALL. 

Am  not  I  indeed 

Helpless  and  miserable — wounded  now  to  death  ? 
And  will  ye  talk  of  doubting?    Am  not  I 
The  only  one  can  guide  ye  through  these  hills  ? 
Put  chains  upon  me,  if  ye'll  have  it  so; 
And  ready  let  some  stand  with  spears,  to  slay  me, 
When  I  deceive,  or  when  the  slaughter's  o'er: — 
Let  me  but  live  to  see't,  and  live  no  longer.  > 

DE  CAST. 

Guide  me  with  faith,  and  I  will  set  thee  yet 
Upon  thy  father's  throne. 

ORALL. 

'Tis  fallen  forever. 

There  is  no  Inca,  and  no  more  shall  be. 
Give  me  my  vengeance,  and  my  father's  grave: 
It  is  enough. 

DE  CAST. 

First  let  thy  wounds  be  stanched. 

ORALL. 

Will  ye  then  palter,  till  I  die?    Advance, 

While  I  have  strength  to  lead  ye.    Follow  now. — 

Manco !  I  come — Let  me  but  live  to  see  it ! 

(Exeunt.) 


ORALLOOSSA  565 

SCENE  V.    Before  the  Cavern.    Enter  CHRISTOVAL, 
JUAN,  and  several  other  Spaniards,  with  picks  and  crows. 

CHRIST. 

This  is  the  cave. — Hark !  dost  thou  hear  no  voice  ? 

Hist,  princess !    Ooallie ! — Now  by  this  hand, 

My  blood  runs  chilly. — Should  the  fright  have  slain 

her! 

Or  some  foul  reptile,  here  walled  up  with  her! — 
It  was  the  rankest  villany. — Look  thou  out 

(To  JUAN,  who  with  one  or  two  others  retires). 
That  none  approach  us. — Would  I  were  home  again ! 
Give  me  a  pick. — Toil  with  your  greatest  speed, 
And  all  in  silence,  lest  fierce  Manco  hear. 
Wrench  out  these  stones :  they  keep  from  heaven's  fair 

light 
The    lovingest    wretch    that    ever    man     betrayed. 

(A  shout.) 
What  is  the  matter  ? — 

JUAN 
Fly !    We  are  surprised — 

ORALL. 

(Within.) 

Strike  them,  and  give  no  mercy !    Did  I  not  tell  ye 
Ye  should  destroy  them?    Ha,  Ha! — 

(Enter  ORALLOOSSA,  DE   CASTRO,   ALCANTARA,    and 
others  of  the  Viceroy's  party.) 

<  CHRIST. 

Give  the  alarm ! —  > 


566    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ORALL. 

A  Spaniard!    Hah,  a  murderer! 

(He  wounds  CHRISTOVAL,  who  is  supported.     The  others 
of  his  party  are  driven  out.) 

CHRIST. 

I  am  slain. — 

Art  thou  the  Inca  ?    Then  this  blow  repays 
Much  of  thy  grief;  but  strikes  the  innocent. 

ORALL. 

Nay,  now  I  know  thee ! — 
I  am  sorry  I  did  strike  thee,  for  thou  wert 
The  only  honest  villain  of  them  all, — 
And  the  poor  fool  that  spoke  for  Ooallie ! 

CHRIST. 

Ay,  Ooallie!  that  is  the  Coya's  name. 

The  heavens  have  smote  thee  with  sore  madness,  Inca: 

Thou  fight'st  against  thyself;  <each  thrust  is  aimed 

Against  thy  dearest  hopes;  each  blow  falls  on 

Some  one  that  serves  thee.  >     When  thou  slew'st  the 

friar, 
Thou  kill'dst  thy  sister. 

ORALL. 

Hah! 

CHRIST. 

That  man  was  sworn 

To  pluck  her  from  the  tomb,  <  and  would  have  done  it, 
Hadst  thou  not  killed  him. 


ORALLOOSSA  567 

ORALL. 

Misery!    Speak  on — 
I  slew  mine  only  friend ! 

CHRIST. 

No,  not  thine  only. 

I  am  the  last  and  only;>  me  thou  killest 
For  the  same  office. — Look,  this  is  the  cavern, 
Wherein  she  lies;  and,  with  these  picks,  came  I, 
If  not  too  late,  to  draw  her  forth. 

ORALL. 

Ah !— wretch ! 
Wretch  that  I  am,  I  strike  at  all  that  love  me. 

(CHRISTOVAL  is  led  out.) 

Mad,  very  mad!  the  deity  has  left  me. — 
Do  ye  stand  still?    Toil  for  your  lives,  toil  all! 
Quick,  quick,  if  ye  be  men — She  is  not  dead! 
Toil,  toil,  toil,  toil!— 

(He  rolls  away  the  stones  from  the  cavern,  and  others 
assist  him.) 

DE  CAST. 

This  is  a  sad  mishap. 

Most  wretched  prince,  thy  strength  is  not  for  this. 
Come  <thou  aside,  >  and  let  my  people  toil. — 

ORALL. 

There — pause! — put    arms    to    this — Hark,    hark,    I 

hear  her ! 

She  screams  for  succour!    Stand  away — Ha,  ha! 
I  hear  her !— Ooallie !— 

(He  enters  the  cave.) 


568    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

DE  CAST. 

This  is  the  saddest 

Of  all  this  war's  most  sad  occurrences.— 
Quick !    Give  him  aid — 

(Re-enter  ORALLOOSSA,  from  the  cave,  bearing  OOALLIE 
dead.) 

ORALL. 

Fresh  air !  a  drop  of  water ! — 
Look,  if  she  live !    Why  princess !  sister !  wake ! — 
Nay,  she  is  very  cold. 

DE  CAST. 

Thy  care  is  vain. — 

ORALL. 

Save  but  her  life,  and  I  will  live  your  slave, 
And  love  ye !    O  ye  have  some  Christian  arts 
Might  make  her  breathe  again !    What  if  she  be 
So  still  and  cold — 'tis  but  a  swoon. 

DE  CAST. 

Away — 
This  is  no  swoon,  but  death. 

ORALL. 

Yea! — Misery 

Strikes  sorest  at  the  innocent. — Thou  seest! 
She  was  my  sister. — Well,  take  her  from  my  sight. — 
She  was  the  only  angel  in  mine  eye — 
Mine  orphan  sister — A  soft  and  loving  heart — 
A  meek  and  gentle  spirit — A  very  warm  soft  heart — 
Ice,  ice! — Take  her  away — 

(She  is  carried  back  to  the  cavern.) 


ORALLOOSSA  569 

DE  CAST. 

Unhappy  prince! — 

ORALL. 

Black,  bloody,   fiendish — Let   the  murderers   die! — 
Almagro — Manco — Dead — my  sister — Blood ! — 
(He  swoons.) 

<DE  CAST. 

What,  doth  he  follow  her?    Nay,  he  will  revive. — 
Lay  him  i'  the  cavern  at  her  side,  until 
The  assault  be  o'er.    And  let  each  heart  remember, 
When  armed  against  th'  Alrnagrists,  'twas  Almagro 
That  wrought  this  frightful  and  this  cruel  deed : 
Remember  this,  and  as  ye  strike,  revenge!> 
(Alarums.      The  scene  closes,  as  they  go  out,  and  as 
some  carry  ORALLOOSSA  to  the  cave.) 

SCENE  VI.     In  the  Peruvian  Camp.     Enter  AL 
MAGRO,  SOTELA,  MANCO,  and  several  Chiefs.    Alarums. 

ALM. 

Assailed  ?  and  now  forsaken  by  the  Inca  ? 

SOT. 

It  is  the  fruit  of  one  unhappy  error. 

Speak  thou  with  Manco,  with  what  fire  thou  canst; 

I  'to  the  lines,  to  check  the  foe  awhile. 

(Exit.) 

ALM. 

Why  dost  thou  falter,  Inca?    Bid  thy  people 
Rush  on  the  foe:  their  numbers  will  o'erwhelm  him. 


570   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

MANC. 

Thou  hast  deceived  me,  Spaniard. 

ALM. 

I  have  made  thee 

Inca;  and,  for  thy  aims,  have  blurred  my  name 
With  a  foul  act :  And  wilt  thou  now  desert  me  ? 

MANC. 

My  people  will  not  fight:  they  steal  away; 

The  chieftains  fly  with  them,  and  say,  'twas  thou 

Unchained  the  captive,  who  is  with  the  Viceroy. 

ALM. 
Foul  liars  all !    The  Inca  with  the  Viceroy ! 

MANC. 
Was  it  not  he,  that  slew  thy  cousin? 

ALM. 

My  cousin  slain? 

MANC. 

Even  at  the  cave,  where  thou 
Didst  plot  new  treachery — treachery  to  me ; 
For  which  I  leave  thee  to  thy  fate. 

ALM. 

O  heavens, 

Comes  it  to  this?  I  pray  thee,  leave  me  not : 
I  broke  no  faith  with  thee.  Or,  if  thou  fliest, 
Leave  me  some  succour  from  thy  thousands. 


ORALLOOSSA  571 

MANC. 

Not  one. 

They  do  my  bidding,  when  they  leave  thee,— scatter 
ing 
Each  for  his  hiding  place.    They  are  dispersed. 

ALM. 

Dispersed !    Nay  then,  false  churl,  thou  hast  destroyed 

me. 

And  yet,  I  pray  thee,  for  thy  own  good  weal, 
(For,  without  me,  thou  art  no  longer  monarch,) 
Leave  me  not  rashly. 

MANC. 

Ay — farewell :  thy  destiny 
Is  dark'ning,  and  thy  planet  sinks  to  night ; 
And  all  that  rest  with  thee,  will  perish  with  thee. 

(Exit  MANGO,  with  the  Chiefs.) 

ALM. 

Perfidy,  perfidy!  thy  sting  is  now 
In  mine  own  bosom. — 

(Alarums.  .  .  .  Enter  JUAN.) 

What!  why  fliest  thou? 
r<Back  with  me  to  the  front  for  death  or  victory  !> 

JUAN 

<For  death  alone. — Fly,  if  thou  canst,  and  fleetly.  > 
The  lines  are  forced,  the  foes  are  at  my  back; 
Thy  friends  are  slain. — 

1  The  acting  version  transposes  this  line  to  the  third  speech  of 
Almagro  below.     "  Now  is  my  falsehood,"  etc. 


572    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

ALM. 

Where  is  Sotela? 

JUAN 

Dead: 
All  dead,  or  captive. — Hark! 


Back  to  our  friends! 


ALM. 

They  call  forme! 


JUAN 

They  are  thy  foes,  that  call. 
Wilt  thou  be  ta'en,  to  die  upon  a  block? 

ALM. 

Now  is  my  falsehood  punished! — Do  not  leave  me. 
(Exeunt  ALMAGRO  and  JUAN.) 

(Enter,  at  the  opposite  side,  DE  CASTRO,  ALCANTARA, 
and  others  of  the  Viceroy's  party.} 

DE  CAST. 

It  is  a  victory:  But  follow  on. 
Rewards  and  honour  to  the  man  that  takes 
Alive  the  rebel  murderer,  Almagro. 

(Exeunt.) 
SCENE  VII.     Before  the  Cavern.     Distant  shouts. 

<JUAN 
(Within.) 
Fly— save  thyself— I  die!— > 

(Shouts.    Enter  ALMAGRO.) 


ORALLOOSSA  573 

ALM. 

What,  left  alone! 

All  dead,  that  followed  me !    O  heaven,  I  feel 
The  arrow  that  thou  strikest  through  my  soul ! 
Would  I  had  died  in  innocence,  or  ere 
I  gave  me  up  to  comfortless  ambition. — 
(Shouts.) 

They  come! — Some  nook  for  present  shelter! — Here, 
This  rock's  abyss,  that  yawns  like  hell  before  me, 
Yet  courts  me  on — A  rock  to  cover  me ! 
(He  enters  the  cave.) 

SCENE  VIII.  The  interior  of  the  Cavern.  The 
body  of  OOALLIE  on  a  distant  shelf.  ORALLOOSSA  dis 
covered  reviving.  Distant  shouts. 

ORALL. 

Ah !  gloom,  black  gloom — Among  the  world  of  spirits, 

But  solitary. — Yet  the  curses  ring, 

And  the  long  yells,  as  on  the  madding  earth; 

And  the  pang  quivers  in  my  flesh,  and  darkness 

Covers  my  brain,  as  all  were  mortal  still. — 

Again  ?  again  ?    And  where  be  those  that  shriek  ? 

Ah !  but  I  dreamed  her  corse  was  at  my  side, 

And  her  cold  cheek  upon  my  breast. — An  Inca, 

Shut  in  the  funeral  cave — Again?    Approach, 

If  ye  be  fiends,  and  look  upon  a  man 

Worn  with  more  miseries  than  yourselves! — Oho! 

(Enter  ALMAGRO.     Shouts) 

They  come,  they  come !  and  this  one  hath  an  aspect 
Of  a  thrice  damned  demoniac! — 


574    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


Yet  am  I  safe.- 


ALM. 

Ah,  they  follow! 


ORALL. 

Ha,  ha! 

ALM. 

O  saints,  a  voice, 

Howling  with  laughter,  in  this  pit! — A  man! — 
What  art  thou?    Speak! 

ORALL. 

Ha,  ha !     The  sun,  the  sun ! 
He  will  not  have  his  child  go  darkling  down ! 
Thou  beest  Almagro !  ho !  Almagro ! 

ALM. 

Heaven ! 
And  thou? 

ORALL. 

The  miserable. — Look,  thou  man, 
That  turn'dst  this  day  to  darkness,  and,  from  thrones, 
Com'st  to  the  den  where  Ooallie  doth  lie. — 

ALM. 

O  Christ,  her  grave,  her  grave ! 

ORALL. 

Yea,  in  her  grave, 
The  fiend  that  filled  thee  with  her  blood,  hath  left 

thee; 
He  gives  thee  to  me,  gives  to  Oralloossa! — 


ORALLOOSSA  575 

Lo,  buried  Incas !  he  that  broke  your  sceptre, 
Is  in  my  hand !    Look  up,  dead  Ooallie, — 
The  slayer  perishes ! 

ALM. 

O,  mine  arm  is  nerveless ! 
(ORALLOOSSA  strikes  him  down.) 

ORALL. 

My  uncle  chained  me, — it  was  thou  that  taught  him; 
My  people  left  me, — it. was  thou  corrupted; 
My  sister  perished, — it  was  thou  that  doomed  her ! 
The  Inca  wept — but  is  I  that  smite  thee ! 

(He  stabs  him.    Enter  DE  CASTRO,  and  the  rest.) 

DE  CAST. 
This  way  he  fled — What !  tear  them  asunder ! 

ORALL. 

Ho! 
(He  kills  ALMAGRO.) 

Thy  blood  is  mixed  with  mine. — 

DE  CAST. 

Raise  up  his  head. — 

ORALL. 

Hard  by  the  victim — Look — it  is  accomplished. 
Grind  them  to  dust ! — I  give  them  for  thy  slaves — 
The    maid!— the    murderer!— To    the    grave— The 
Inca. — 

(He  dies.     Tableau.) 

THE  END. 


THE   BROKER   OF   BOGOTA 

The  following  text  of  The  Broker  of  Bogota  is 
based  primarily  upon  the  complete  manuscript 
copy,  made  by  Mrs.  Bird,  wife  of  the  dramatist, 
in  the  collection  of  Bird  papers  at  the  Library 
of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania.  In  the  collec 
tion  are  also  two  autograph  copies  of  the  play, 
both  incomplete.  The  text  has  also  been  collated 
with  the  acting  version  in  the  Edwin  Forrest 
Home  at  Holmesburg,  Pennsylvania.  Additions 
from  this  version  are  indicated  by  square  brack 
ets;  omissions  of  word,  line,  or  scene  are  enclosed 
in  brackets  of  this  form :  <  > . 

The  Broker  of  Bogota  was  finished  in  January, 
1834,  and  first  produced  by  Edwin  Forrest  at  the 
Bowery  Theater,  New  York,  on  February  I2th 
of  the  same  year.  Its  success  was  marked  and 
immediate,  the  part  of  Baptista  Febro  becoming 
a  permanent  role  in  Forrest's  repertoire. 


37  577 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA 
A  TRAGEDY 


579 


CHARACTERS 

MARQUES    de  PALMERA,    Viceroy  of   New  Granada. 
FERNANDO,  his  son. 
BAPTISTA  FEBRO,  the  broker. 

RAMON        \    ,  . 

_  r    his  sons. 

FRANCISCO  ) 

MENDOZA,  a  merchant,  father  of  JUAN  A. 

ANTONIO  de  CABARERO,  a  profligate,  friend  of  RAMON. 

PABLO,  an  inn  keeper. 

SILVANO,  servant  of  FEBRO. 

LEONOR,  daughter  of  FEBRO. 

JUANA,  daughter  of  MENDOZA. 

Gentlemen  of  the  Court,  Citizens,  Alguazils. 

SCENE,  Santa  Fe  de  Bogota. 


580 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA 
ACT  I 

SCENE  I.     The  Street  near  FEBRO'S  house.     (Enter 
MENDOZA  and  RAMON.) 

MENDOZA. 

You  have  your  answer.  Come  no  more  near  my  house : 
I'll  have  no  disobedient,  disinherited  sons  there. 
<Come  no  more  near  to  me.  > 

RAM. 

Senor  Mendoza,  you  make  my  unhappiness  my  crime 
and  condemn  me  for  my  misfortune. 

MEN. 

Truly,  I  have  so  learned  to  criminate  misfortune  ever 
since  I  found  that,  when  one  grief  springs  from  ill 
fate,  twenty  come  from  our  own  faults.  I  have 
never  known  a  young  man  sink  in  the  world, 
without  finding  he  had  overburdened  himself  with 
follies. 

RAM. 

If  you  will  listen  to  me,  I  will  show  you  how  much  you 
wrong  me. 

58i 


582    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

MEN. 

Wrong  you?  I  wrong  you  not:  you  are  your  own 
wronger.  <  I  should  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  you.  > 

RAM. 

You  treat  me  with  much  shame,  sefior;  but,  for  your 
daughter's  sake,  I  forgive  you. 

MEN. 

So  would  I  that  your  father  did  you  for  my  daughter's 
sake ;  for  then  might  I  think  of  you  for  a  son.  But 
now,  you  must  pardon  me — Think  no  more  of 
that. 

RAM. 

Senor  Mendoza,  I  have  your  promise  to  wed  Juana. 

MEN. 

I  made  that  promise  when  you  were  your  father's  heir ; 
and  I  break  it,  now  that  you  are  your  father's 
outcast.  I  will  have  no  discarded  son  for  my 
child's  husband,  believe  that. 

RAM. 

My  father  will  restore  me  to  his  favor. 

MEN. 

When  he  does  that,  I  will  perhaps  take  thee  to  mine, — 
not  before.  <  Fare  thee  well,  senor.  > 

RAM. 

Senor  Mendoza,  it  is  said  you  will  marry  Juana  <to 
another  ? 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  583 

MEN. 

And  if  I  do,  sefior,  who  is  to  gainsay  me  ?  > 

RAM. 

To  Marco,  the  young  merchant  of  Quito? 

MEN. 

Content  thee,  sefior  Ramon,  Marco  is  neither  discarded 
nor  poor,  nor  ill  spoken  of;  and  will  be  a  good 
husband  for  a  good  man's  daughter.  <  Farewell 
— Come  to  me  no  more.  > 

RAM. 
By  heaven,  it  shall  not  be! 

MEN. 

Oho!  it  shall  not  be!  You  are  the  King  of  Castile, 
sefior  <  Ramon !  >  You  will  have  fathers  marry 
their  children  to  men  of  your  choosing ! 

RAM. 

Senor,  you  will  break  my  heart.  It  is  enough  to  lose 
my  father,  my  family — all — yet  you  will  rob  me  of 
my  betrothed  wife. 

MEN. 

Betrothed  to  Baptista  Febro's  heir,  not  to  Ramon  the 
penniless  and  houseless.  <  You  are  scurrilous.  > 
I  will  talk  with  you  no  more.  Farewell — and 
come  no  more  near  me:  my  daughter  is  not  for 
you.  (Exit.) 


584   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

RAM. 

Misery  follow  thee,  thou  false  old  churl, 
And  age's  torments !  till  they  rack  as  sore 
As  the  fresh  pangs  and  agonies  of  youth. 
Perhaps  his  daughter  is  not  much  averse; 
Yet  many  an  oath,  with  many  a  sigh,  of  old, 
Breathed  she  for  truth  and  loving  constancy. 

(Enter  CABARERO.) 

CAB. 

Hola,  Ramon!  brother  Sorrowful!  Sefior  Will-o'-the- 
wisp  !  are  you  there  ?  I  have  been  seeking  <  for  > 
you. 

RAM. 

I  should  think  then  thou  hadst  some  execution  upon 
me ;  for  who  else  now  seek  me  but  my  creditors  ? 

CAB. 

Why,  thy  true  friends,  thy  true  friends  (for  am  not  I  a 
host?),  thy  true  friends,  Cabarero.  Come  now, 
hast  thou  been  petitioning  thy  father? 

RAM. 

I  tell  thee,  I  had  better  ask  an  alms  of  the  cutthroat 
on  the  highway,  than  of  my  father. 

CAB. 

<  An  alms!  >  Oh,  thou  art  the  smallest-souled  pretty 
fellow  in  all  Granada  here.  Why  dost  thou  talk 
of  an  alms  ?  Art  thou  not  thy  father's  eldest  son ? 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  585 


RAM. 


Had  I  been  the  youngest,  I  should  have  been  the 
happier. 


CAB. 


Yea,  thou  shouldst  have  been  a  counter  of  beads,  a 
beggar  of  blessings,  a  winner  of  the  elder  brother's 
portion.  Pish!  thy  brother  Francisco  is  a  rogue; 
he  has  ousted  thee  from  thine  inheritance. 


RAM. 

If  any  one  have  done  that,  thou  art  the  man.  I  am 
ruined,  Cabarero,  and  thou  art  my  destroyer. 

<CAB. 

Now,  I  think  thou  art  repenting  of  thy  sins;  but  thou 
goest  about  it  the  wrong  way.  > 

RAM. 

Look,  Cabarero,  there  is  my  father's  roof.  There  is  no 
swallow  twittering  under  its  eaves,  that  has  a 
merrier  heart  or  a  gayer  song,  than  were  mine 
once,  when  I  was  a  boy  under  it. 

CAB. 

Ay,  faith,  and  that  wast  because  thou  wert  a  boy,  a 
silly  boy.  Now  wert  thou  a  man,  a  discreet  and 
reasonable  man,  thou  wouldst  be  even  as  merry  as 
before.  <Thou  dost  not  think  thou  wert  born 
to  be  always  in  a  grin  ?  > 


586   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

RAM. 

I  was  the  eye  of  my  mother,  the  heart  of — <my 
father >  ;  my  sister  loved  me;  my  brother — <ay, 
and  my  brother > — ay,  they  all  loved  me;  and 
there  was  no  one  that  did  not  smile  on  me,  from 
the  priest  at  the  confessional  to  the  beggar  at  the 
door.  By  St.  James,  I  had  many  friends  then; 
and  I  deserved  their  favor,  for  I  was  of  good  fame 
and  uncorrupted. 

CAB. 

I  see  thou  art  a  man  whose  head  is  likely  to  be  as 
empty  as  his  pockets.  'Slife!  uncorrupted? 
<Thy  nose  uncorrupted  !>  Bad  luck  is  the  lot 
of  the  best. 

RAM. 

Antonio,  I  say,  thou  hast  destroyed  me.  Until  I  knew 
thee,  I  abhorred  shame,  and  <it  is  true>  my 
hand  was  as  stainless  as  an  infant's. 

CAB. 

It  was  thy  father's  scurvy  covetousness  that  put  thee 
on  to  showing  thy  spirit. 

RAM. 

Thou  didst  delude  me.  By  the  heaven  which  has 
deserted  me,  I  did  not  think  this  hand  could  rob! 

CAB. 

Pho,  thou  art  mad !    Remember  thou  art  in  the  street. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  587 

RAM. 

That  is  the  word,  Antonio. — I  robbed  him — robbed 
him  like  a  base  thief:  and  then  I  became  the 
outcast. 

CAB. 

And  then  thou  becam'st  a  fool !  Thou  didst  but  take 
<what  was>  a  part  of  thine  inheritance. 

RAM. 

<And>  yet  he  forgave  me  that! 

CAB. 

He  did  not  hang  thee,  for  that  would  have  brought 
shame  on  his  house.  [Forgave  thee!]  He  forced 
thee  to  be  foolish,  and  then  discarded  thee — 
turned  thee  off  like  a  sick  servant — abandoned 
thee. 

RAM. 

<I  think  he  should  not  have  done  that.  Had  he 
forgiven  me  that! 

CAB. 

Forgive !  Nay,  he  forgave  old  Miguel  the  mule-driver 
a  debt  that  would  have  kept  thee  in  bread  for  a 
year;  and  yet  it  was  evident  to  all  that  Miguel 
cheated  him.  But  to  forgive  his  own  flesh  and 
blood  is  another  matter. 

RAM. 

He  forgave  Miguel  because  he  besought  his  pardon: 
I  have  not  yet  besought  him.  Dost  thou  re 
member  the  holy  history  of  the  prodigal? >  Per 
haps  if  I  humble  myself  to  him,  he  will  forgive  me. 


588    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CAB. 

If  thou  art  of  that  mind,  thou  may'st  see,  o'  the  in 
stant,  how  he  will  spurn  thee.  Look,  he  is  here, 
with  thy  sister,  and — Pho!  thou  tremblest! — 
'Tis  Mendoza,  father  of  thy  fair  Juana. 

(FEBRO,  with  LEONOR  and  MENDOZA,  crosses  the  stage.) 

RAM. 

He  has  discarded  me  too,  and  Juana  is  given  to 
another.  How  can  I  entreat  him?  See,  he  will 
not  look  upon  me ! 

LEON. 

Father,  will  you  not  speak?    It  is  my  brother  Ramon. 

FEB. 

The  carrion  vulture  with  him. — Get  thee  in. 
I  would  I  had  no  sons — What  ?  in,  I  say ! 

(Exit  LEONOR  into  the  house.) 
Senor  Mendoza,  what  you  have  said  is  well: 
I  must  needs  own  the  contract  was  too  rash. — 
We  are  both  agreed  it  shall  not  bind  us  more. 
I  hear  young  Marco  is  a  worthy  man: 
Give  him  your  daughter  and  heaven  bless  the  match. 
Will  you  enter,  senor? 

MEN. 

I  thank  your  favor,  no. 

This  thing  despatched,  I  will  to  other  business. 
Good  evening,  senor. 

FEB. 

You  will  be  happy,  friend — 
Take  no  wild  hothead  boy  to  be  your  son : 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  589 

Look  to  his  friends :  If  Marco  have  but  one 
Loves  mirth  more  than  integrity,  discard  him. 
These  gadflies  are  our  curses — Fare  you  well. 
(Exeunt  MENDOZA  and  FEBRO  ,  the  latter  into  the  house.) 

CAB. 

Oh!  o'  my  conscience,  a  loving  father! 

RAM. 

He  gave  me  no  encouragement  to  speak  to  him.  Had 
he  but  looked  upon  me  kindly,  that  look  would 
have  cast  me  at  his  feet. 

CAB. 

What,  at  his  feet?  Not  if  he  were  twenty  times  your 
father.  <'Slid,  at  his  feet!  Why>  he  would 
have  spurned  thee.  Didst  thou  hear?  He  has 
absolved  Mendoza  from  the  match, — robbed  thee 
of  Juana, — nay,  and  absolutely  counselled  the 
merchant  to  marry  her  to  your  rival.  A  loving 
and  merciful  father!  He  ruins  thee  every  way. 
Were  he  mine  own  father,  I  would — 

RAM. 

What  wouldst  thou  do?    Thou  wouldst  not  kill  him? 

CAB. 

By  mine  honor,  no.  I  hold  any  bodily  harm  done  to 
one's  parent  altogether  inexpiable.  But  I  would 
not  forgive  him. 

RAM. 

I  will  not ! 


590   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CAB. 

Why,  that  was  said  like  a  man. 

RAM. 

He  forgives  not  me,  he  pardons  not  a  folly,  and  how 
shall  I  forgive  a  cruelty?  For  a  single  weakness, 
he  punishes  me  with  all  degradation  and  misery; 
expels  me  from  his  house;  looks  not  on  me  in  the 
street;  leagues  with  those  who  wrong  me;  leaves 
me  penniless  and  perishing;  and  even  persuades 
another  to  break  faith  with  me,  and  give  my  be 
trothed  to  a  stranger:  And  how  shall  I  forgive 
him? 

CAB. 

Why,  thou  shalt  not. 

RAM. 

I  will  not.  I  am  even  a  desperate  man;  and  so  I  will 
yield  me  up  to  the  wrath  of  desperation.  Art 
thou  my  true  friend? 

CAB. 

Else  may  I  have  no  better  hope  than  purgatory. 

RAM. 

We  will  kill  the  merchant  of  Quito. 

CAB. 

No,  the  saints  forbid !  no  murder.  He  hath  not  money 
enough  with  him. 

RAM. 

Why,  thou  dost  not  think  I  will  slay  him  for  money? 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  591 

CAB. 

And  for  what  else  should  you  be  so  bloody-minded? 
Thou  art  not  mad  enough  to  cut  his  throat  be 
cause  he  loves  thy  mistress? 

RAM. 

Thou  knowest,  if  he  live,  he  will  marry  her. 

CAB. 

Oh!  she  detests  him,  and  loves  you. 

RAM. 

Yet  will  she  wed  none  her  father  mislikes;  and  her 
father  likes  not  me. 


CAB. 

Wherefore?  Because  you  have  lost  your  father's 
favor?  No,  because  you  are  called  a  wild  fellow, 
and  hate  chapels?  No.  Because  you  are  no 
longer  the  hopeful  heir  to  Baptista  Febro,  the 
rich  broker?  Ay:  there  lies  his  disgust,  thence 
comes  his  indignation.  Now  were  you  the  veriest 
rogue  in  Bogota,  he  would  love  you  well,  so  you 
had  but  money. 

RAM. 

Why  do  you  tell  me  that?  I  know  he  is  mercenary; 
nothing  will  win  his  heart  but  money,  a  curse  on 
it!  I  would  I  were  rich  for  Juana's  sake;  but  for 
myself,  I  care  not  for  gold — It  has  been  the  ruin 
of  me. 


592    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CAB. 

Thou  speakest  like  an  innocent  goose.  Money, 
<  sirrah  !>  'tis  the  essence  of  all  comfort  and 
virtue.  Thou  carest  not  for  gold !  Give  me  gold, 
and  I  will  show  thee  the  picture  of  philosophy,  the 
credential  of  excellence,  the  cornerstone  of  great 
ness.  It  is  wisdom  and  reputation — the  world's 
religion,  mankind's  conscience;  and  what  is  man 
without  it?  Pah!  'Tis  as  impossible  honesty 
should  dwell  easily  in  an  empty  pocket,  as  good 
humor  in  a  hollow  stomach,  or  wit  in  a  full  one. 
Didst  thou  ever  see  integrity  revered  in  an  old 
coat,  or  unworthiness  scorned  in  a  new?  <Thou 
carest  not  for  gold!>  'Slife,  it  made  my  blood 
boil  to  hear  you  say  so. 

RAM. 

Well,  after  all,  as  money  or  murder  must  rid  me  of  my 
rival,  tell  me  how  one  can  be  more  easily  come  at 
than  the  other. 

CAB. 

Why,  you  rogue,  there  is  our  silver  mine!  We  have 
been  hunting  it  long;  we  must  needs  be  near  the 
vein. 

RAM. 

That  stratagem  is  growing  stale.  I  sware  but  this 
morning  to  an  old  friend,  of  whom  I  desired  to 
borrow  money  that  we  had  discovered  the  tomb 
of  Bochica  the  Indian  emperor,  which  was  doubt 
less  as  full  of  gold  as  the  Inca's  grave  in  Peru; 
but  the  knave  laughed  at  me,  <and  said  if  I 
found  no  gold  in  it,  I  should  have  plenty  brass.  > 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  593 

CAB. 

The  rascal !  and  he  lent  thee  no  money  ? 

RAM. 
Not  a  real. 

CAB. 

There  is  no  gratitude  among  friends.  <  Do  thy  good 
offices  to  strangers ;  and  courtesy  will  teach  them 
the  grace  of  thankfulness.  Canst  thou  cheat 
nobody  ? 

RAM. 

Cheat,  Antonio? 

CAB. 

Pho!  be  not  in  a  passion.  All's  honest  that  fetches 
money.  >  We  must  have  gold,  or  Juana  is  lost. 

RAM. 

Ay —  Set  me  to  what  roguery  you  will,  so  it  may 
regain  her. 

CAB. 

The  tomb  of  Bochica,  the  Indian  emperor!  I  know 
not  by  what  hallucination  it  happens,  but  I  never 
hear  thee  mention  that,  without  thinking  of  the 
vaults  of  thy  father. 

RAM. 

Hah! 

CAB. 

Now,  were  he  not  thy  father,  couldst  thou  not  have 
the  heart  to  rob  him  ? 
38 


594   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

RAM. 


Rob  him ! 


CAB. 


That  is,  as  long  as  he  oppresses  thee  so  tyrannically. 
Faith,  I  would  even  steal  mine  own  share. 

RAM. 

Thou  dost  not  seriously  advise  me  to  be  such  a  villain  ? 

CAB. 

No,  good  faith — I  ?  I  was  jesting.  But  I  will  tell  thee 
what  thou  shalt  do.  Thou  shalt  ask  him  for 
money. 

RAM. 

And  have  him  spurn  me  again? 

CAB. 
Tell  him  thou  art  in  danger  of  a  prison. 

RAM. 

I  will  go  near  him  no  more.  No  more  begging!  The 
prison  first. 

CAB. 

<  Why,  we  must  have  money.  I  am  sorry  to  tell  thee, 
some  evil  rogues  have  disparaged  us  among  the 
free  gamesters,  and  they  will  be  free  with  us  no 
more.  >  Pablo  the  innkeeper  is  wrathful  with 
thee,  and  says  he  must  have  money  for  thy  food 
and  lodging. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  595 

RAM. 

The  villain !    He  has  had  my  last  dollar. 

CAB. 

He  is  not  so  merciful  as  thy  father;  but  he  has  har 
boured  thee  long.  Hearken — I  will  go  to  thy 
father. 

RAM. 

Thou! 

CAB. 

And  entreat  him  for  thee  very  piteously. 

RAM. 

<  He  will  fill  thy  pockets  with  curses. 

CAB. 

Why,  then  I  will  cheat  him. 

RAM. 
Cheat  him? 

CAB. 
Oh,  thou  dost  not  care?> 

RAM. 

You  may  rob  him,  if  you  will:  I  care  not. 

CAB. 

I  will  cheat  him  with  good  security,  and  will  fetch  thee 
the  money.  <  But  I  must  not  give  thee  too  much 
hope:  he  will  think  I  borrow  it  for  thee,  and  will 


596    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

refuse  me.  But  >  do  thou  in  the  meanwhile  en 
deavor  to  speak  with  Juana.  Marco  must  not 
have  her. 

RAM. 

Not  if  any  new  dye  upon  my  soul  can  preserve  her. 
<Do  what  you  will,  or  can;  and  if  you  fail,  we 
will  consider  another  way  to  amend  our  for 
tunes.  > 

CAB. 

All  the  men  of  Bogota  are  our  enemies — How  many  of 
them  have  money  in  thy  father's  hands? 

RAM. 

Why  more  than  I  can  tell  thee.  But  what  has  that  to 
do  with  their  enmity  ? 

CAB. 

So  much  that  if  one  were  to  break  Baptista's  vaults, 
we  should  have  much  feeding  of  grudges. 

RAM. 

Say  no  more  of  this. 

CAB. 

Look,  here  comes  thy  friend  Mendoza  again! 

RAM. 

Where?  Nay,  thou  art  mistaken:  'tis  another,  and  a 
greater  than  Mendoza,  and  one  not  more  our 
friend.  Seest  thou  nothing  beyond  that  muffled 
cloak?  It  is  the  Viceroy. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  597 

CAB. 

The  Viceroy!  I  warrant  me,  he  is  spying  over  us. 
What  does  he  in  disguise?  and  near  thy  father's 
house  ? 

RAM. 

Perhaps  I  could  tell  thee.  But  let  us  be  gone.  He 
hardens  my  father  against  me.— Let  him  not  see 
us. 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  II.    A   room  in  FEBRO'S  house.      (Enter 
FEBRO  and  LEONOR.) 

FEB. 

Come  hither,  Leonora.    What,  my  girl, 
That  stranger  youth  I  bade  thee  see  no  more, 
Dost  thou  still  speak  with  him  ? 

LEON. 

Alack,  dear  father, 
I  hope  you  are  not  angry. 

<FEB. 

Is  it  so? 
Comes  he  still  near  thee? 

LEON. 

Oh,  I  am  sure  indeed, 
I  never  gave  him  countenance.  > 

FEB. 

I  charged  thee 

Give  him  such  scorn,  if  still  he  followed  thee, 
As  should  have  driven  him  from  thee:  for,  indeed, 


598    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

These  trashbrained  idlers,  that  do  follow  thee, 
Sighing  in  chapel,  staring  in  the  street, 
And  strumming  silly  lovesongs  at  thy  window, 
They  are  but  things  of  naught, — base,  lazy  rogues, 
That  hunt  for  rich  men's  daughters  for  their  prey, 
And  now  they  haunt  thy  steps  the  more,  because 
The  broker,  weak  old  Febro,  that  must  die, 
In  natural  course  of  age,  ere  many  years, 
Hath  but  two  heirs  to  share  his  hoards. 

LEON. 

Dear  father, 

Will  you  not  then  forgive  my  brother  Ramon? 
I  know  he  is  very  sorry  he  e'er  grieved  you; 
And  on  his  heart  your  wrath  must  needs  be  heavy. 

FEB. 

If  thou  believ'st  so,  then,  in  time,  beware 

It  fall  not  upon  thine.     <In  sooth,  I  think, 

Thou  art  leagued  with  him  to  vex  me. —  >  O  ye  saints ! 

Punish  these  villains  that  seduce  men's  sons, 

Making  them  villains;  and  with  vengeance  follow 

The  knaves  that  teach  our  daughters  disobedience. 

LEON. 

Dear  father,  none  shall  teach  me  that. 

FEB. 

They  shall  not, 
When  thou  seest  no  more  rogue  Rolandos. 

LEON. 

Father, 
Indeed,  I  think,  he  is  honest. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  599 

FEB. 

Nay,  a  knave ! 

He  doth  not  come  to  me,  but  ever  shuns  me. 
He  hath  no  friends;  no  man  in  Bogota 
Hath  made  acquaintance  with  him :  he  flies  all 
Like  a  scared  thief,  save  only  thee  alone, 
<  And  comes  to  thee  like  one,  cloaked,  almost  masked, 
As  when  he  followed  thee  from  the  carnival. 
Now  were  my  Ramon  what  in  youth  he  was, 
He  should  be  thy  protector,  and  soon  drive  me 
This  wasp  away. 

LEON. 

If  he  return  again,  > 

I'll  bid  him  come  no  more; — I  will  indeed, 
Till  he  has  talked  with  you,  and  satisfied  you. 

FEB. 

Why  there's  my  girl !    Let  him  but  come  to  me ; 
I'll  tell  him  that  I  mean  thee  for  another. 

LEON. 

Another,  father!    I  do  not  wish  to  marry. 

FEB. 

Thus  silly  maids  will  talk !    Why,  thou  poor  finch, 
A  gentleman  hath  asked  thee  for  his  wife, — 
Rich,  I  assure  thee,  virtuous,  honorable, 
And  a  hidalgo. 

LEON. 

And  so  is  Roland,  too. 


6oo   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

Speak'st  thou  of  Roland?    Thou  wilt  anger  me. 

He  a  hidalgo!    By  my  faith,  I  think, 

Some  heathenish  villain,  that  with  magic  arts 

Hath  wound  about  thy  spirits.    He  I  meant, 

Is  Baltasar,  son  of  Don  Lucas  Moron. 

Dost  thou  name  him  and  Roland  in  a  breath  ? 

I'  faith,  thou  stirr'st  me,— 

(Enter  SILVANO.) 

What  would'st  tnou,  Silvano? 

SILV. 
A  customer  to  your  worship. 

FEB. 

It  is  a  holiday. 
I  will  no  business  do  today. 

SILV. 

Your  favour 
Must  pardon  me.     It  is  his  Excellency. 

FEB. 

His  Excellency!  oh  thou  foolish  knave. 
To  leave  him  waiting ! — 

(Enter  PALME RA.) 

Please,  your  noble  highness, 
Pardon  my  silly  fellow. 

PALM. 

Good  Baptista, 
Forget  my  state, — it  is  too  cumbersome. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  601 

I  am  even'  your  humble  suitor  and  poor  friend. — 

My  pretty  Leonor!    Now,  by  my  life, 

Which  like  a  desert  river,  flows  away, 

I  would  some  green  and  flourishing  plant  like  thee 

Had  rooted  by  my  current :  then  indeed 

I  should  have  seen  the  surges  of  my  age 

Dash  with  a  sweet  contented  music  on, 

Nor  thought  their  course  was  sterile. 

FEB. 

A  silly  maid. 
Your  highness  is  too  good. — Go,  Leonora. 

(Exeunt  LEONORA  <and  SILVANO.  >) 
<A  silly  maid!  and  yet,  or  I  do  dream, 
Loving  and  true.    And  yet — But  that's  no  matter. — 
I  am  at  your  highness'  bidding.  > 

PALM. 

Sit  down,  Baptista. — 

Oh,  then,  I  must  be  viceroy  and  command  you. — 
I  have  much  to  say  to  thee. 

FEB. 

I  am  sorry  your  grace 

Did  not  command  me  to  the  palace. 

PALM. 

No. 

Perhaps  I  have  a  reason  I  could  tell  you. 
Febro,  you  have  my  confidence,  and  know, 
What  were  a  wonder  unto  other  men, 
How  one  can  sit  upon  a  viceroy's  chair, 
Yet  heap  no  wealth  about  him. 


602    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

Please  your  highness, 
Your  predecessors  on  Granada's  throne, 
Ne'er  found  a  lack  of  gain;  and,  sooth  to  say, 
I  do  remember  when  no  mine  could  yield, 
Though  by  a  thousand  Indians  daily  wrought, 
So  rich  a  revenue  as  the  rod  of  state 
In  one  man's  hands,  were  but  that  man  the  viceroy.  , 

PALM. 

Such  was  its  wealth,  and  such  may  be  again, 

To  him  with  heart  to  use  it.    But  for  myself, 

I  cannot  stoop  to  use  those  under  means, 

That  fill  the  purse  of  office;  and  I  would  gnaw 

Sooner  my  food  from  off  my  barren  trappings, 

Than  gild  them  vilely  with  the  fruits  of  fraud, 

Sales,  bribes,  exactions,  and  monopolies, 

The  rich  dishonour  of  prerogative. 

<  I  will  this  kingdom  leave  with  no  man's  curse, 

And  no  man's  scorn;  and  to  mine  own  land  bear 

Even  the  poor  burden  that  I  brought  with  me, 

An  honest  pride  and  pure  integrity. 

'Tis  from  this  thought  that  I  make  use  of  thee, 

Out  of  that  lean  estate  I  have,  to  win 

Such  gain  as  my  necessities  require, 

And  such  as  though  my  state  must  keep  it  secret, 

I  have  no  shame  to  grasp  at. 


FEB. 

Would  indeed 
This  principle  should  come  with  your  successor.  > 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  603 

PALM. 

I  have  some  gold,  which  I  would  have  you  place 

Even  at  what  profitable  trade  you  can, 

But  not  in  peril ;  for  indeed  it  is 

After  some  worthless  antique  lands  in  Spain, 

The  only  portion  I  can  give  my  son, 

But  now  arrived  in  Bogota. 

FEB. 

Your  highness 
Shall  faithfully  be  served. 

PALM. 

I  doubt  not  that. 

Soon  as  you  will,  some  trusty  messenger 
Send  to  the  court,  and  he  shall  bear  the  gold. 

FEB. 
My  son  shall  be  despatched. 

PALM. 

Your  son,  Baptista! 

FEB. 

My  son  Francisco, — I  dare  assure  your  highness, 
A  trusty  youth,  and  most  unequalled  son. 

PALM. 

In  sooth,  I  thought  you  meant  his  elder  brother. 

FEB. 

Francisco,  please  your  grace, — an  excellent  boy, 
<  Mine  only  hope  and  comfort, — a  dutiful  son.  > 


604   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

It  is  a  holiday,  and  the  youths  have  left 
Their  prisoned  warehouses,  and  look  for  mirth 
In  the  gay  squares  and  streets, — all  but  Francisco. 
He  nooks  him  at  his  desk,  and  still  pores  o'er 
The  weary  mysteries  of  accounts,  as  though 
Wisdom,  as  well  as  wealth,  were  writ  among  them. 

PALM. 

A  commendable  zeal.    But  tell  me,  Febro, — 
This  should  have  been  the  elder  brother's  office. 
Pardon  me,  Febro;  but  beshrew  my  heart, 
I  speak  to  thee  in  friendship,  when  I  meddle 
In  family  affairs.    You  are  too  harsh : 
Indeed  it  is  the  towntalk,  your  severity 
To  your  discarded  son. 

FEB. 

It  is  the  towntalk! 

The  town  will  disobedience  teach  to  children, 
Then  censure  fathers,  who  do  punish  them. 
This  is  the  course,  and  justice  of  the  town ! 

PALM. 

But  still,  men  say,  the  penance  you  inflict 
Is  all  too  heavy  for  his  boyish  follies. 

FEB. 

Follies!     No  doubt,  they  told  your  excellency 
He  idled  at  his  task,  sometimes  made  blunders, 
Played  truant  oft,  and  sometimes  laughed  at  chapel- 
Such  follies! 

PALM. 

No,  I  must  needs  own,  for  truth, 
They  were  of  darker  color, — running  forth 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  605 

With  youths  disorderly  and  riotous, 
Unto  the  tavern  and  the  gaming-house. 

FEB. 

Riotous  friends! 

Drinking  and  gambling!  Sir,  these  are  such  follies 

In  youth,  as  fraud  and  robbery  in  men; 

And  he  who  clouds  his  dawn  of  life  with  such 

Shall  have  a  fouller  tempest  for  its  close. 

PALM. 

And  yet  these  are  such  ills  as  gentleness 
Might  best  reprove;  and,  for  those  after  crimes, 
Surely  your  son  has  not  plunged  into  them  ? 

FEB. 

I  do  not  say  it !    There  is  no  man  dare  say  it. — 
I  say,  my  Ramon  is  a  foolish  boy. 
Your  highness  cannot  say  I  e'er  accused  him 
Of  aught  but  folly. 

PALM. 

The  more  unwise  your  anger, 
Which  may  compel  him  into  crime.    Baptista, 
He  is  the  only  one  of  your  three  children 
Whose  weakness  vexes  you. 

FEB. 

I'll  not  say  that. 

PALM. 

What,  Febro?    And  the  paragon,  Francisco? 

FEB. 

He  never  gave  me  pain. 


606   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


My  pretty  Leonor? 


PALM. 

And  Leonor? 

FEB. 
The  world's  best  daughter! 

PALM. 

0  foolish  man,  that  art  not  yet  content, 

When  heaven  that  crowns  thee  with  two  perfect  joys, 

Dashes  a  little  gall  upon  the  third ! 

<  Wilt  thou  be  harsher  than  all  other  sires, 

Because  thou  art  happier?    Oh,  believe  me  Febro, 

There  is  no  father  but  must  much  forgive; 

There  is  no  father  but  must  much  lament ;  > 

And  I,  that  have  but  one  child  to  mine  age, 

And  him  would  have  an  angel  in  my  love, 

Even  see  him  tainted  with  the  spots  of  youth, 

And  envy  thee  that  hast  such  bliss  with  thine. 

FEB. 

Sir,  I  have  heard  the  young  Fernando  bore  him 
Like  a  most  just  and  virtuous  gentleman. 

PALM. 

And  yet,  though  but  few  days  in  Bogota, 

His  heart  is  tangled  in  a  low  intrigue, 

A  base  amour.    But  shall  I  drive  him  from  me? 

1  will  not  ape  thy  cruelty,  but  bid  thee 

Follow  mine  own  mild  counsels,  which  will  give  thee 
Thy  son  again,  a  loving  penitent. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  607 


FEB. 


Sir,  I  would  have  him  feel  in  sharp  extreme 
The  bitter  issues  of  his  degradation. 
Tis  need  he  feel  them. 


PALM. 


They  oppress  him  now : 
I  saw  him  sad  and  moody  near  thy  house, 
Humbled  to  earth. 


FEB. 


Ay !  but  with  Cabarero ! 
The  villain  that  seduced  him  into  folly, 
And  still  cajoles  him  on.    He  has  his  choice, — 
That  caitiff,  or  his  father — He  has  his  choice! 


PALM. 


Well,  well,  think  better  of  him.     He  loves  the  man, 
Who  seems  to  be  his  fast  unflinching  friend. 
Think  of  my  counsel. 


FEB. 


At  your  highness'  feet ! 
Francisco  shall  attend  you  to  the  palace, — 
What,  boy!  Francisco! 


PALM. 


I  prythee,  keep  thy  house. 
I  will  not  have  thee  follow  to  the  doors. 


FEB. 
Your  excellency's  slave. 


(Exeunt.) 


608    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

SCENE  III.     The  street  at  FEBRO'S  door.     (Enter 
SILVANO  and  FERNANDO.) 

SILV. 
I  do  wonder  at  your  presumption,  sefior  Rolando. 

FERN. 

And  I  do  wonder  at  thine  honesty.  If  thou  wilt  not 
for  money,  oh  then  for  love  bear  my  message  to 
the  fair  Leonor. 

SILV. 

To  peep  from  the  window,  and  see  how  prettily  thou 
wilt  kiss  thy  hand  to  her!  Art  thou  really  a 
hidalgo  ? 

FERN. 

I  am  really  a  hidalgo,  a  Spanish  hidalgo. 

SILV. 
And  your  worship  does  really  love  my  mistress  ? 

FERN. 

My  worship  does  most  devoutly  adore  your  divine 
mistress. 

SILV. 

And  if  you  gain  her  good  will,  you  will  make  her  your 
worship's  wife? 

FERN. 

If  I  gain  her  good  will,  I  will  fly  straightway  to  the 
altar;  <If  not,  I  will  e'en  betake  me  to  the 
halter.  > 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  609 

SILV. 

Why,  if  thou  wert  an  honest  gentleman,  thou  would'st 
demand  her  of  her  father.  He  would  be  glad  to 
have  a  hidalgo  for  a  son. 

FERN. 

Oh,  thou  art  a  silly  fellow.  I  am  a  poor  hidalgo,  which 
is  naught  to  a  rich  commoner. 

SILV. 

Senor  Rolando,  I  like  thy  face  indifferent  well;  but  I 
think  thou  art  some  rogue,  and  no  noble. 

FERN. 

If  thou  wilt  be  as  loving  as  I  am  noble,  hear  my  peti 
tion,  and  beseech  my  young  divinity  to  look  from 
the  window. 

SILV. 
Who  knows?    Why,  senor  Febro  is  within. 

FERN. 

How  shall  he  hear  the  silver  voice  of  his  daughter, 
when  his  ears  are  filled  with  the  golden  jingle  of  has 
coffers? 

SILV. 

Well,  stay  a  moment  till  his  excellency  goes. 

FERN. 

His  excellency!    What  excellency? 

SILV. 

Why,  his  excellency  the  Viceroy.  <He  is  a  great 
friend  of  my  master.  > 

39 


6io    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FERN. 

Oh!  fire  and  furies!  the  Viceroy!  Now,  I  remember 
me,  I  have  to  meet  a  friend  in  the  great  square. 

SILV. 

Stay,  senor  Hidalgo,  here  comes  his  excellency.  Senor, 
you  are  a  rogue!  God  be  with  you!  (Exit 
FERNANDO.)  Well,  thou  art  a  mysterious,  good- 
for-nothing,  agreeable  rascal,  I  warrant  me;  and 
somehow,  I  begin  to  love  thee.  But  thou  hast  a 
wholesome  dread  of  great  men. 

(Enter,  from  house,  PALMERA,  FEBRO,  and  FRANCISCO. 
LEONOR  appears  at  the  door.) 

FEB. 

Heaven  keep  your  excellence  a  thousand  years! 
Thou  hast  thy  charge,  Francisco. — Heaven  save  your 
highness ! 

(Exeunt  PALMERA  and  FRANCISCO.) 
Silvano,  hast  thou  heard  more  things  of  Ramon  ? 

SILV. 

Please  your  worship,  I  heard  he  was  last  night  at 
Mateo's  gambling  house. 

FEB. 

The  wretched  boy ! 

SILV. 

And,  please  your  worship,  he  hurt  one  with  his  dagger 
for  calling  him  a  cheat. 

FEB. 

A  cheat !    Would  he  had  never  been  born ! 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  611 

SILV. 

But  then,  it  was  a  slander;  or  how  should  he  have 
stabbed  a  man  for  telling  the  truth  ? 

FEB. 

Ay,  slander,  Silvano!    He  could  not  cheat. 

SILV. 

<And  the  gambler's  boy  that  told  me,  he  is  a  most 
notorious  liar. 

FEB. 

I  cannot  but  believe  it  was  a  lie.  > 

SILV. 

And  then,  if  he  had  cheated,  he  should  have  had 
money;  whereas,  they  say,  he  is  in  great  poverty; 
and  Pablo  the  innkeeper  threatens  to  put  him  in 
prison. 

FEB. 
In  prison!    I  have  been  too  harsh. 

SILV. 

<But  that,  I  think,  is  only  to  make  your  worship  pay 
his  debts;  for  Pablo  is  reckoned  to  be  a  rascal. 

FEB. 

Will  Ramon  agree  to  this  roguery  ? 
I  will  not  pay  a  real.  > 

SILV. 

Please  your  worship,  I  have  heard  no  more  of  his 
doings. 


6i2    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

Well,  I  did  love  him  well, — but  that's  no  matter. 
My  Rachel  loved  him  too,  as  her  first  born; 
And,  for  a  boy,  he  was  the  lovingest  one 
Mine  eyes  ere  looked  upon.     <Get  in,  Leonora. 
Why  wilt  thou  stand  at  doors,  to  be  gazed  on 
By  these  young  bawbling  wantons  of  the  town  ? 
They'll   smirk    at  thee,   and    wink,    and    kiss  their 

hands: 

I  know  them  very  well, — such  gewgaw  brains, 
And  hearts  of  rotton  stone,  and  trash  and  lies — 
Wilt  thou  not  hear  me?     What?     (Exit  LEONORA.) 

By  all  the  saints, 
She  is  the  very  apple  of  mine  eye. 
She  does  not  love  this  fellow : — the  whim  of  girls, 
To  have  well-favored  youths  a-wooing  them. —  > 
I  know  that  rogue — is  it  not  Cabarero? 
Oh,  the  base  villain !  had  he  been  but  hanged 
Six  years  agone,  or  ere  he  looked  upon 
My  foolish  boy! — Well,  will  he  speak  with  me? 

(Enter  CABARERO.) 
Come,  let  us  in. 

CAB. 

Hola,  you  money-vender! 
You  reverend  old  blood-grater  of  the  poor! 
Tarry,  I'll  speak  with  you. 

FEB. 

Now  all  the  saints 
Give  me  a  little  patience. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  613 

CAB. 

Come,  how  stand 

Your  vaults  and  money  bags?    Still  filling,  filling, 
Like  the  horseleech's  paunch,  and  crying  "More!"? 
I'll  be  thy  customer.    What  rate  today  ? 
Not  cent  per  cent,  with  tenth  of  gross  for  premium  ? 
Be  reasonable,  and  I'll  deal  with  thee. 
These  are  hard  times,  faith. 

FEB. 

I  will  not  be  angry, 

Why  should  I  with  a  rascal  ?    Senor,  base  fellow, 
You  may  go  hang  or  drown — I'll  give  you  naught. 

CAB. 

No,  by  mine  honor,  no,  you  will  not  give  me, 

Else  should  the  devil  grow  weary  of  the  earth. 

And  leave  't  to  angels.    Give  me  indeed!    When  pesos 

Change  to  perditions,  ducats  to  damnation, 

Then  will  I  look  for  gifts.    But  how  now,  senor? 

'Slid,  I  believe  you  are  angry! — What's  the  news? 

How  fares  my  little  soul,  fair  Leonor? 

Upon  my  faith,  she's  an  exceeding  girl  : 

What  portion  will  you  give  her?    Sometimes  I 

Do  think  of  marriage ;  and  hidalgo  blood 

Has  often  stooped  to  gutters. 

FEB. 

Which  is  to  say, 
Your  honor  might  be  bribed  to  marry  her? 

CAB. 

Noble's  a  noble  dower;  and  so  I  say, 
Verily  so,  if  well  thou  portion'st  her. 


6i4    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

Then  shalt  thou  hear  it — When  she  weds  a  man 
Like  thee,  her  portion  shall  be  cords  and  ratsbane, 
Curses  and  misery !    Oh,  thou  bold  bad  man, 
How  canst  thou  look  me  in  the  face,  nor  think 
Of  ruin'd  Ramon? 

CAB. 

I  do  think  of  him, 
And  wonder  at  the  rage  that  ruins  him. 

FEB. 

Sirrah! 

CAB. 

Why,  how  you  fume?    I  come  to  you 
To  borrow  money — good  faith,  a  thousand  ducats — 
At  highest  rates  of  interest,  with  surety 
Of  good  sufficient  names,  to  be  repaid 
Out  of  my  new  discovered  silver  mine. — 
I  say,  good  names. 

FEB. 

Were  they  angelical, 
Thou  shouldst  not  have  a  doit  to  hang  thyself. 

CAB. 

Harkee,  old  sir — I  meant  a  part  thereof 
To  feed  thy  starving  Ramon. 

FEB. 

Knave,  thou  liest! 

It  is  to  tempt  him  on  to  further  shame. 
To  deeper  ruin! 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  615 


CAB. 

Thou  art  angry, — I  forgive  thee. 
But  know,  unless  thou  send'st  him  money  straight, 
He  will  be  lodged  in  prison.    Ope  thy  heart; 
Send  him  some  gold. 

FEB. 
Art  thou  his  friend  ? 

CAB. 

His  best. 

FEB. 

<Thou  lovest  my  Ramon — ay,   and  thou  lovest 

gold:> 

I'll  teach  thee  how  to  serve  him  as  a  friend, 
And  how  to  win  thee  money. 

CAB. 

Speak  that  how. 

FEB. 

Leave  Bogota  forever;  swear  me  that: 

Get  thee  from  hence  to  Spain;  and  I  will  give  thee 

A  thousand  ducats. 

CAB. 

Faith,  now  you  speak  in  jest! 

FEB. 

I  say,  I'll  give  them  to  thee,  nay,  and  more, 
Swear  me  but  that,  and  keep  thine  oath. 


616   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CAB. 

A  thousand? 

A  thousand  ducats  to  leave  Bogota? 
No,  not  for  five! 

FEB. 

Wilt  thou  not  go  for  five  ? 

CAB. 

Art  thou  in  earnest? 

FEB. 

So  may  the  saints  befriend  me; 
Get  thee  to  Spain;  leave  Ramon  unto  me, 
And  thou  shalt  have  five  thousand  ducats. 

CAB. 

'Slid! 
I  take  thy  offer.    Give  me  the  gold. 

FEB. 

Soft,  soft: 

I'll  have  thine  oath  before  a  notary; 
Find  thee  conveyance  unto  Carthagena ; 
Pay  thee  a  portion  when  thou  art  embarked, 
And  count  the  rest,  in  yearly  sums,  to  thee, 
Only  in  Spain. 

CAB. 

Five  thousand  on  the  nail, 
Paid  here  in  Bogota;  to  which  e'en  add 
A  thousand  yearly  to  be  paid  in  Spain, 
During  my  term  of  life. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  617 

FEB. 

O  grasping  villain ! 

Thou  wouldst  have  all,  and  yet  wilt  go  with  none. 
If  thou  wilt  more,  there's  money  in  my  vaults; 
Break  them,  and  rob  me! 

CAB. 

Oh!  dost  thou  invite  me? 

FEB. 

Rob  me,  thou  knave,  that  I  may  have  thy  life! 
Do  me  that  crime,  and  hang! 

CAB. 

Most  antique  churl, 
Thou  shalt  be  sorry  for  this  fantasy. 
Thou  hast  no  gold  for  Ramon  ? 

FEB. 

Hence,  begone! 

And  a  deep  curse  go  with  thee,  a  father's  curse ! 
Get  thee  to  fraud  and  crime,  to  theft  and  murder. 
Become  notorious  to  thyself,  and  sleep, 
Dreaming  of  gibbets,  to  wake  up  to  racks ; 
Rob  other  sires  of  other  sons;  bring  wo 
On  other  houses ;  till  the  general  curse 
Heaped  like  a  mountain  o'er  thy  head,  reach  heaven, 
And  wall  thee  in  its  fiery  hell  forever ! 
Hence,  monster,  hence! 

(Exeunt.) 

END  OF  ACT  I. 


ACT  II 

SCENE    I.     A     street    near    MENDOZA'S    house. 
(Enter  RAMON  and  PABLO.) 

PAB. 
I  am  a  poor  man,  sefior  Ramon:  I  must  have  money. 

RAM. 

Wert  thou  as  penniless  as  a  beggar,  still  couldst  thou 
have  nothing  of  me ;  for  I  am  poorer. 

PAB. 

Thy  father  is  the  richest  man  in  Bogota.  He  should 
pay  for  thy  food. 

RAM. 

Get  thee  to  him,  and  tell  him  so.  Look,  thou  insatiate 
rogue,  I  have  signed  and  countersigned  all  thy 
villainous  obligations ;  I  have  owned  me  here  thy 
debtor,  and  confessed  thou  canst  justly  hale  me 
to  prison.  <  What  more  can  I  do?  If  thou  canst 
use  these  to  any  honest  purposes,  or  dishonest 
either,  I  care  not.  Get  thee  to  my  father.  If  he 
will  give  thee  money,  I  am  content;  if  not,  'tis 
but  a  word  to  the  alguazil,  and  thou  shalt  have  so 
much  satisfaction  as  my  incarcerated  misery  can 
give  thee.  > 

618 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  619 

PAD. 

Thou  knowest  I  should  be  loathe  to  be  so  unfriendly. 

RAM. 

I  know,  thou  art  as  much  a  cormorant  as  the  rest 
<  and  as  rapacious  for  my  lean  and  impoverished 
body  as  ever  thou  wert  in  my  days  of  fatness.  > 
Get  thee  away:  I  have  one  honest  friend  left, 
whom  I  would  not  willingly  have  to  see  me  in  thy 
company. 

PAB. 

Why,  I  hope  thou  art  not  ashamed  of  me? 

RAM. 

No,  I  am  now  ashamed  of  nothing.  The  grace  in  me 
that  would  have  once  blushed  at  unworthiness, 
is  gone ;  and  I  have  nothing  left  for  contempt  but 
myself — myself.  Go,  get  money,  if  thou  canst; 
it  is  thy  only  hope;  thy  stay  will  only  rob  me  of 
my  last.  Go,  I  pry  thee. 

PAB. 

Well,  God  be  with  you.  If  I  can  cheat  your  father, 
you  shall  have  some  of  the  gain. 

(Exit.) 

RAM. 

Thus  doth  severity  still  goad  me  on 
Into  a  hateful  villainy ;  and  chains  me 
<Whate'er  my  sighs  for  better  liberty  > 
To  fellowship  with  rogues  more  vile  than  I. 
Thou  drivest  me,  father,  to  this  noose  of  shame; 
And  wilt  not  bate  thy  wrath,  till  I  am  dead. — 


620   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

(Enter  JUANA.) 

I  looked  for  thee,  Juana !  for  I  knew 

Though  all  else  had  deserted  me,  thou  couldst  not. 

JUAN. 

Ramon,  I  have  few  words  to  speak  to  thee : 
And  even  with  these,  I  lay  upon  my  soul 
The  sin  of  disobedience. 

RAM. 

Ay,  indeed! 
You  will  obey  your  sire ! 

JUAN. 

What  else  should  I? 
I  am  his  only  child ;  in  whom,  in  sooth, 
Heaven  would  not  pardon  an  unfilial  act. 

RAM. 

Speak  boldly;  leave  me,  like  the  rest,  and  fear  not; 
Say,  Marco  is  a  rich  and  honored  man, 
And  Ramon  lost  to  wealth  and  reputation : 
There's  none  but  will  commend  thee. 

JUAN. 

Say  not  that 

Thou  know'st,  I  never  loved  thee  for  thy  wealth; 
For,  sooth,  I  liked  thee  best  when  that  was  gone; 
With  thy  hard  father's  heart :  and,  for  thy  name, 
These  evil  tales  destruction  speaks  of  thee, 
But  spur  me  on  to  be  thy  advocate. 
I  never  gave  them  faith. — 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  621 

RAM. 

Lies !  that  are  ever 

Writ,  by  contempt,  upon  the  poor  man's  brow, 
But  puffed,  by  flattery,  from  all  jewelled  fronts. 
But  yesterday  men  found  the  rich  man's  son 
Worthy  and  honorable,  without  stain; 
Today  they  find  the  fallen  outcast's  face 
Charged  with  the  sinful  leprosy  of  years — 
An  hour  for  transformation! 

JUAN. 

They  will  find  thee 

Stainless  again,  when  thou  art  fortunate. 
Hark  to  me,  Ramon:  there  are  not  many  days, 
Ere  I  am  lost  to  thee.    Unless  thou  find 
Before  they  pass,  some  happy  road  to  wealth, 
Fortune  will  come  too  late  to  purchase  me. 
Get  gold,  and  win  my  father's  heart  again 
Ere  he  do  marry  me  to  Marco. 

RAM. 

Heaven 
Smite  his  false,  churlish  heart! 

JUAN. 

Curse  not  my  father : 
Do  that  which  shall  appease  him. 

RAM. 

Marry  thee? 
He  had  not  thought  it  without  thine  own  consent! 

JUAN. 

How  thou  dost  wound  me,  Ramon!     O  bright  saints, 
It  was  but  now,  as,  at  my  lattice  sitting, 


622    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

I  looked  down  on  the  gardens  of  our  sires, 

Which,  in  their  days  of  friendship,  our  blest  childhood, 

Did  make  one  common  paradise. — I  thought 

Even  of  the  thousand  hours  there,  hand  in  hand, 

We  had  roamed  among  the  blossoms.     All  this  time 

My  father  was  beseeching  me  for  Marco. 

I  saw  no  Marco,  at  the  lemon-tree; 

It  was  not  Marco,  from  the  chirimoya, 

Had  stolen  the  fragrant  buds  to  crown  me  with ; 

It  was  not  he  had  caught  the  humming  bird, 

To  keep  him  radiant  in  my  memory ; 

I  saw  naught  there  but  Ramon,  and  my  heart 

Even  while  I  wept,  was  hardened  to  my  father; 

And  with  that  sin,  and  with  those  tears,  I  won 

A  last  grace  for  thee — still  a  week  of  trial ; 

A  week  wherein  if  fortune  ismile  upon  thee 

The  rites  with  Marco  shall  not  be  enforced. 

RAM. 

And  how  shall  fortune  smile  again? 

JUAN. 

<ril  teach  thee: 

Give  o'er  all  thought  of  mines;  they  will  delude  thee 
On  to  a  golden  madness,  but  no  wealth. 

RAM. 

What  else  remains  ?> 

JUAN. 

Thy  father, 
<  Ramon,  thy  father.  > 

RAM. 

My  tyrant !  my  destroyer ! 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  623 

JUAN. 

Speak  not  thus, — 
Though  harsh  and  most  unjust,  thy  father,  Ramon ! 

RAM. 

Wed  Marco !    Now  by  heaven,  not  even  for  thee 
Will  I  be  spurned  again. 

JUAN. 

Ramon,  not  spurned. 

RAM. 

Thou  dost  not  know  what  wrong  my  sire  has  done  me, 

This  wreck  thou  seest  of  what  I  was,  this  shred 

Of  my  rent  happiness,  this  squalid  relic 

Of  a  once  fair  and  ample  reputation, 

This  misery  of  heart  and  character — 

'Tis  what  my  father  makes  me !    No,  thou  know'st  not 

The  depth  of  wrong  he  has  done  me. 

JUAN. 

Still  remember 

What  e'er  thy  suffering,  that  his  wrath,  first  springing 
From  the  base  slanders  of  thine  enemies, 
Thine  own  rough  pride  still  kindles. 
Nay,  my  Ramon — 

I  know  his  nature;  and,  though  much  incensed, 
His  heart  is  yearning  to  forgive  thee. 


I  have  found  it  so ! 


RAM. 

Ay! 


624    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

JUAN. 

Thou  didst  not  personally 
Sue  to  him.    Go  thyself,  go — send  no  more 
Thy  friend  to  him.    I  like  not  Cabarero; 
I  fear  he  is  not  the  true  friend  you  believe  him. 
Go  to  him,  Ramon,  and  beseech  his  pardon. 
Think,  if  thou  gain'st  him,  thou  gain'st  me. 

RAM. 

Well,  well- 

This  day  already  did  I  go  before  him. 
He  frowned  and  passed  me  by;  and,  as  to  mad  me 
With  the  extreme  of  most  vindictive  wrath, 
Did  while  I  stood  hard  by,  advise  thy  father 
To  marry  thee  to  Marco. 


There  is  no  hope ! 


JUAN. 

<Then  heaven  help  m( 

RAM. 
Perhaps  I'll  find  a  mine.  > 


JUAN. 

Alas,  once  more,  once  more  beseech  him,  Ramon. 
Seek  him  alone,  humble  thyself  before  him. 
I  will  beseech  him  too.    It  cannot  be, 
He  has  learned  to  hate  thee.    I  will  aid  thy  suit. 
Once  more,  once  more,  or  I  am  lost  forever. 

RAM. 
Well,  well,  I'll  think  of  it.— But  wed  not  Marco. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  625 

JUAN. 

Not  till  the  week  be  o'er;  but  after  that 
I  have  sworn  to  do  my  father's  bidding. 
'Twas  by  that  oath,  I  gained  this  week  for  thee. 

(Enter  MENDOZA.) 
Alack,  I  am  torn  from  thee ! 

MEN. 

What,  silly  girl! 

Get  thee  to  house.  Thou  wilt  not  win  this  puppet 
By  wooing  her  i'  the  street.  One  last  word,  senor, 
A  week  hence  is  my  daughter's  wedding  day. 

(Exit  MENDOZA,  with  JUANA.) 

RAM. 

If  I  do  go  to  him,  he  will  not  hear  me — 

A  week? — Nay,  though  with  tears  I  should  conjure 

him 

Ere  he  have  brought  a  smile  upon  his  face, 
New  words  of  new  misdeeds  will  turn  its  light 
Into  a  fiercer  flame :  he  must  needs  find 
Fresh  stains  of  degradation — I  will  not  go. 
If  he  have  thought  to  pardon  me  at  all, 
I'll  know't  by  Cabarero. 

(Enter  CABARERO.) 


What  said  my  father? 


RAM. 

What,  Antonio? 

CAB. 


Your  father?     Humph! — Is  Febro  your  father?     I 
think  we  have  all  along  made  a  mistake.    What 


4o 


626   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

said  he?  I  am  afraid  it  will  not  comfort  thee  to 
hear.  We  will  not  talk  it  in  the  street ;  thou  wilt 
relish  it  better  over  a  cup  of  wine. 

RAM. 

He  has  rejected  my  suit? 

CAB. 

Wilt  thou  hear  how?  Let  us  begone  to  Pablo's;  for, 
I  swear  to  thee,  rage  and  despair  are  making  me 
very  thirsty. 

RAM. 

He  will  give  me  no  relief? 

CAB. 

Wilt  thou  search  my  pockets?  I  offered  him  good 
security.  It  is  true,  the  names  were  not  so 
honestly  written;  but  he  asked  not  to  see  them. — 
Not  a  penny,  not  a  penny;  not  even  to  save  thee 
from  perdition. — Pho,  how  thou  sighest!  Come, 
shall  we  go  to  drink?  Humph ! — if  thou  knewest 
how  foolish  'tis  to  be  melancholy. — Now  have  I 
been  thinking,  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  how  much 
thy  silly  face  looks  like  an  epitaph — a  morsel  of 
silent  lamentation  over  thy  dead  and  buried 
hopes.  Well,  thou  art  content  to  give  up  Juana? 

RAM. 

Because  Febro,  the  broker,  loves  me  not ! — I  will  call 
him  father  no  more. — He  would  neither  lend  to 
you,  who  could  give  him  the  securities  of  law;  nor 
to  me,  who  have  some  of  the  claims  of  nature? 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  627 

CAB. 

Not  a  penny.  'Sfuries,  had  you  but  seen  how  he  re 
viled  me  like  a  dog !  And  the  more  I  begged  him 
in  thy  name,  the  more  wrathfully  did  he  abuse  me. 
Lend  thee  money?  said  he;  I  will  lend  thee  the  pangs 
of  purgatory:  Lend  thee  money !  I  will  lend  thee  the 
whipping  post.  Thou  know'st  he  was  thy  father, 
otherwise  I  had  pulled  him  by  the  beard.  Send 
me  then  comfort  to  thy  afflicted  and  perishing  son, 
quoth  I,  with  a  moderate  supplicatory  air.  /  will 
see  him  jailed,  doomed  and  hanged  first,  said  he. 

RAM. 

He  did  not  say  this  ? 

CAB. 

Oh,  not  in  such  brief  measures,  to  be  sure:  but  that 
was  the  end  of  a  ten  minutes'  malediction. 

RAM. 

<Why  then  good  luck  to  him  and  no  more  begging. 
Whose  throat  shall  we  cut  ?  Money  must  be  had. 

CAB. 

Thy  father  has  most  shamefully  treated  thee,  that's 
certain.  > 

RAM. 

I  will  forget  it  when  he  has  driven  me  to  the  grave,  not 
sooner.  Money  must  be  had — and  within  a  week. 
Men  have  been  guilty  of  parricide.  <  Money, 
money !  Have  you  no  money  ? 


628    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CAB. 

Here  is  a  handful  [of]  shabby  pistareens,  if  thou  art 
famishing.  Let  us  go  and  drink  a  toast  to  Marco's 
fair  wife.  > 

RAM. 

Shall  we  hang,  drown,  rob,  or  commit  murder?  I  will 
now  do  any  villainy  thou  canst  recommend  me. 

CAB. 

Most  unnaturally  wronged,  and  unnaturally  aban 
doned.  This  should  excuse  any  vengeance.  Thou 
must  do  thyself  right.  And  thy  milk-faced 
brother  shall  have  thine  inheritance !  Thou  must 
right  thyself — 

RAM. 

Before  the  week  end;  or  I  am  in  prison,  and  Juana 
married. 

CAB. 

I  could  teach  thee  a  way.  Come  let  us  begone. 
'Sblood!  are  there  no  scavengers? — What  have  we 
here?  By  the  mass,  a  key!  Now  might  this 
belong  to  a  rich  man's  door,  and — 

RAM. 

Hah! 

CAB. 

Why  what  is  the  matter  with  thee?  Is  it  gold?  a 
basilisk? 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  629 

RAM. 

The  lost  key  of  my  father's  vault ! 

CAB. 

Ho,  have  the  saints  forgot  thee?  Why,  here  is  ven 
geance!  wealth!  Juana! — It  is  not  thy  father's 
key? 

RAM. 

I  have  handled  it  a  thousand  times!  'Twas  lost  a 
month  ago. 

CAB. 

Ha,  ha!  thy  father  bade  me  rob  him!  Give  me  the 
key.  Look — thou  art  poor,  miserable;  this  will 
make  thee  happy.  Did  destiny  put  it  under  thy 
foot  for  nothing  ? — Hark'ee — this  is  the  true  mine ! 
Come,  Juana  is  waiting  for  thee!  A  little  wine 
will  put  thfee  out  of  this  stare, — and  this  will  help 
thee  to  thine  inheritance. 

(Exeunt.) 

< SCENE    II.     The    street    before    FEBRO'S    door. 
(Enter  LEONOR  and  FERNANDO.) 

FERN. 

Trust  me,  sweet  Leonor,  I  have  good  cause 
To  hide  me  from  thy  father. 

LEON. 

It  is  no  cause 
Of  a  good  man,  that  makes  him  shun  the  good. 


630   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FERN. 

The  best,  that  have  infirmities,  are  worst 
Under  their  proper  passions;  and  the  foible, 
Which,  in  thy  sire,  to  other  men,  seems  harmless, 
May  make  him,  in  mine  eyes,  detestable. 

LEON. 

What  is  't  that  makes  you  say  so  ?    If  indeed, 

As  I  will  not  believe,  thou  lovest  me, 

My  sire  should  seem  an  angel  in  thine  eyes. 

FERN. 

And  so  he  should,  did  I  not  know,  in  his, 
My  own  poor  image  would  be  devilish. 

LEON. 

Well,  I  care  not.    You  will  be  sorry  soon, 
When  I  am  wedded  to  another. 

FERN. 

Wedded! 

You  do  but  tell  me  this  to  mock  my  heart. 
Then  laugh  me  out  of  sorrow. 

LEON. 

No  indeed: 

'Twas  but  this  morning  that  my  father  said, 
I  should  be  married  to  Don  Baltasar. 
And  I  do  think,  because  you  will  not  do 
As  love  would  still  have  taught  you,  for  my  sake, 
It  will  be  best  to  marry  Baltasar. 

FERN. 

To  marry  Baltasar!    You  cannot  think 
To  be  so  false.    What,  wed?  and  Baltasar? 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  631 

LEON. 

He  asks  my  father  for  me. 

FERN. 

So  would  I; 

But  that  I  know,  the  answer  to  my  prayer 
Would  be,  the  curse  to  look  on  thee  no  more. 

LEON. 

Not  if  thou  beest  an  honest  gentleman. 

FERN. 

Honest  I  know  not,  for  this  love  might  seem 
To  my  stern  father,  subtle  and  deceitful ; 
But  so  far  honest,  I  would  rather  give 
These  limbs  up,  to  be  torn  by  wild  horses, 
Than  ever  do  thee  wrong.    Sweet  Leonor, 
Know,  if  I  seek  thy  sire,  he  will  demand  me 
My  father's  name;  whereat  I  needs  must  speak 
Such  hateful  syllables,  as  will  turn  his  heart 
As  by  a  fiendish  magic,  into  coals ; 
And  if  he  do  not  kill  me  (as,  indeed 
The  sudden  pang  of  rage  may  urge  him  to) 
At  least,  he'll  drive  me  from  thy  face  forever. 
I  am  the  son  of  his  worst  enemy. 

LEON. 

Alas,  he  has  no  enemies.    I  ne'er  heard  him 
Speak  of  an  enemy. 

FERN. 

The  fiercest  rage 

Hides,  like  the  wolf,  from  daylight ;  the  rough  vulture 
Asleep  upon  his  perch,  doth  seem  as  harmless 


632    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

As  the  poor  innocent  dove  that's  nested  by. 
And  Febro,  brooding  o'er  a  secret  hate, 
May  veil  his  anger  with  a  face  of  peace. 
Why  should  he  speak  of  enemies  to  thee  ? 

LEON. 

Art  thou  indeed  his  enemy  ? 

FERN. 

No,  not  I. 

I  did  forget  the  rage  my  father  taught  me 
Soon  as  I  looked  on  thee. — Wed  Baltasar? 

LEON. 

I  will  not  marry  Baltasar. 

FERN. 

But  lo, 
Thy  sire  will  have  thee  forced. 

LEON. 

What  shall  I  do? 

Some  maids  would  be  so  silly,  they  would  fly 
If  much  persuaded. 

FERN. 

If  thou  look'st  upon  me 

Howe'er  my  fearful  thoughts  may  start  at  folly 
I  will  persuade  thee. 

LEON. 

Not  unless  he  force  me! 
He'll  ne'er  forgive  me. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  633 


FERN. 

O  thou  simple  sweet, 

If  thy  sire  foam,  mine  own  will  anger  more. 
But  we'll  forget  them. 

LEON. 

Come  to  me  again, 
And  then  perhaps  I  will — And  if  I  do, 
My  father  will  be  so  lonely.    But  then  indeed 
He  will  forgive  my  brother :  and,  with  my  brother, 
He  will  be  happy !  yes,  indeed,  more  happy 
Than  with  poor  me. 

FERN. 

Thou  dost  persuade  thyself ; 
And,  in  thy  arguments,  I  am  resolved. 
We  will  fly. 

LEON. 

Not  till  he  force  me ! 

FERN. 

Shall  I  wait? 

Till  thou  art  married  ?    Get  thyself  prepared : 
And  see  thou  have  not  store  of  bags  and  boxes, 
As  will  o'erload  a  caravan  of  mules — 
Tonight  I'll  come  for  thee. 

LEON. 

No,  not  so  soon. 

Get  thee  away.    There  comes  my  brother  Francisco  !- 
But  come  to  me — yes,  come  again,  again! 

(Exeunt)  > 


634    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

<  SCENE  III.     A  room  in  PEDRO'S  house.     (Enter 
FEBRO  and  SILVANO,  with  books.) 


FEB. 

That  money  lent  to  Tomas  Catalan, — 
Four  thousand  marks, — is  it  not  due  today  ? 
I' faith,  'twas  yesterday.    Where  is  Francisco? 
Doth  he  so  slur  my  books  ?    Why  this  way  was 
With  Ramon,  when  he  'gan  to  change  and  fall, — 
Four  thousand  marks — Threatened  with  prison  too ! — 
A  good,   safe    man.  —  His    mother    ne'er    dreamed 

this,— 

Threatened  with  prison — penniless — forsook. 
Why  then  perhaps  the  penance  is  too  sore; 
His  excellency  says  it  is  too  heavy : 
He  is  a  good  man,  and  a  wise  man  too. 
And  it  may  be,  if  I  deny  him  more, 
Necessity  may  force  him  to  such  guilt, 
As  will  his  ancient  follies  make  seem  virtues. 
Poverty  has  an  angel's  voice,  to  plead 
Excuse  of  sin. — The  town  doth  talk  of  me, 
They  call  me  overharsh ;  and  Cabarero 
Says,  it  is  I  myself  that  ruin  him. 
He'll  lose  his  bride  too.    Think'st  thou  not,  Silvano, 
I  might  to  Pablo's  go,  and  no  man  see  me? 

SILV. 
To  Pablo's,  sefior? 

FEB. 

No,  let  him  come  to  me.    I  will  do  naught  to  make  men 
stare  at  me. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  635 

SILV. 

The  saints  forbid ! — I  think  he  has  not  his  mind. 
Rob  him !  and  go  to  Pablo's !  or  have  Pablo, 
That  low,  base,  scurvy  rascal,  come  to  him! 

FEB. 

Say  he  be  jailed,  the  lesson  then  is  ended; 

The  foul  familiar  parts  from  him ;  and  he 

Repents  him  in  his  bonds.    But  that  disgrace 

May  break  his  heart:  I  have  known  men  die  of  shame. 

For  that,  to  lofty  spirits,  is  such  an  air 

As  kills  the  lusty  miner  in  the  rift ; 

A  breath  is  fatal. 

SILV. 
Talk  you  of  killing,  master? 

FEB. 

O  foolish  fellow,  why  dost  thou  stare  at  me  ? 
Methinks  Francisco  tarries  overlong. 

SILV. 
He  comes,  sir. 

(Enter  FRANCISCO,  bearing  gold.) 

FEB. 

Get  thee  hence — look  to  the  door. 
Thy  duty.  (Exit  SILVANO.) 

FRAN. 

Father,  I  have  brought  the  gold ; 
An  excellent  sum  too.    Shall  I  to  the  vaults  ? 


636    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

Look,  boy,  where  are  thy  wits?  I  find  me  here 
Four  thousand  marks  that  yesterday  were  due, 
And  not  yet  rendered. 

FRAN. 

From  Tomas  Catalan? 
Father,  I  saw  him  yesterday  indeed, 
And  he  desired  me  fetch  it  home  today. 

FEB. 

Why  that  was  well.    But  wherefore  spoke  you  not? 
Will  you  do  all  and  with  no  word  from  me  ? 

FRAN. 

Father,  I  told  you,  and  you  did  consent. 

FEB. 

Did  I  so,  boy  ?    Ay,  now  I  recollect  me, — 

This  plague  o'  the  heart  doth  dull  the  wit.    'Twas  well. 

And  Joseph  Lucas,  have  you  heard  of  him? 

Is't  true  his  mine  is  flooded? 

FRAN. 

Deluged,  father. 
Utterly  lost. 

FEB. 

And  he  hath  nothing  left 
To  pay  me  back  that  mine  (I  think  I  am  mad 
To  lend  such  sum  to  any  mortal  man) 
That  mine  of  pesos  I  did  lend  to  him  ? 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  637 

FRAN. 

No,  nothing,  father;  he  is  wholly  ruined. 

FEB. 

I  shall  be  ruined  too !    Why  'twas  a  fortune 
For  any  man,  a  rich  and  princely  fortune: 
I  slaved  out  years  to  win  it.    I  shall  be  ruined. 
I  may  live  to  see  you  brought  to  want. 

FRAN. 

No,  father. 
Lose  twice  as  much,  enough  remains  for  us. 

FEB. 

You  will  have  enough  with  Ramon's  portion ! 

FRAN. 

Father, 

Forgive  my  brother,  give  my  portion  to  him. — 
I  will  live  happy  in  a  monastery, 
To  know  he  is  content  and  you  with  him. 

FEB. 

Thou  art  my  loving  boy! — Get  thee  to  Catalan; 
Bring  me  that  money;  and  when  thou  hast  marked  it, 
And  also  that  his  excellency  gave  thee, 
Store  me  both  in  the  vault. 

FRAN. 

Shall  I  not  have 

The  masons  to  wall  up  the  garden  door  ? 
The  match-key,  father,  of  the  outer  door, — 
Some  rogue  may  find  it. 


638    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

It  is  about  the  house; 
I  did  myself  mislay  it;  and  I  will  find  it, 
Soon  as  these  troubles  vex  my  mind  no  more. 
But  ne'ertheless,  we'll  wall  the  door  tomorrow. 
Get  thee  away ;  be  swift ;  and  after  that 
Make  haste  to  mark  the  coin  and  store  it  safely. 

FRAN. 

Father? 

FEB. 

What  wilt  thou? 

FRAN. 

Father,  when  I  am  come 
To  Catalan's  door,  I  shall  be  nigh  to  Pablo's. 

FEB. 

Ay! 

FRAN. 

If  I  might  but  speak  then  with  my  brother — 

FEB. 

Get  thee  to  Catalan;  speak  to  none  but  Catalan; 
And  think  of  none  but  Catalan.    Or  indeed, 
If  thou  must  think  of  Ramon,  let  thy  dreams 
Bring  thee  instruction,  and  inform  thy  heart 
What  is  the  end  of  disobedience — sorrow, 
Abasement,  shame,  neglect,  abandonment. 
Think  of  thy  brother,  but  be  far  from  him.> 

(Exeunt.) 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  639 

SCENE    IV.     The    street    before    PEDRO'S    house. 
(Enter  MENDOZA  and  SILVANO.) 

MEN. 
It  is  very  strange. 

SILV. 

He  grieves,  sir,  much  for  his  son;  and  I  think  that 
sorrow  is  e'en  setting  him  crazy. 

MEN. 
He  talked  with  that  debauched  fellow,  Cabarero  ? 

SILV. 

Ay,  sefior;  with  the  decayed  and  disreputable  hi 
dalgo,  Cabarero — about  Spain,  and  Carthagena, 
and  a  ship,  and  five  thousand  ducats.  Senor, 
would  a  wise  man  invite  another  to  rob  him  ? 

MEN. 
To  rob  him  ? 

SILV. 

He  said,  there  was  money  in  his  vaults.  He  might 
have  told  him,  he  could  break  in  from  the  garden 
and  the  cellar.  To  be  sure  he  said  he  would  hang 
him,  when  it  should  come  to  be  discovered. 

MEN. 

I  have  seen  in  him  no  sign  of  dotage,  nor  of  madness; 
but  this  savors  of  both. 

SILV. 

And  what  should  make  him  think  of  Pablo  ?  He  asked 
me,  might  he  not  go  to  Pablo,  and  no  one  see  him ! 


640   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


MEN. 

This  is  still  as  strange;  for  Pablo  is  notoriously  sus 
pected  to  be  a  rogue. 

SILV. 

He  talked  of  killing  too;  <and  with  poisons  as  deadly 
as  the  foul  air  of  a  mine.  >  Now  had  he  thought 
of  killing  Pablo,  I  should  not  esteem  him  so  mad; 
but  to  think  of  going  to  Pablo!  That  is  most 
lunatic-like. 

MEN. 

He  shall  not  need  that;  for,  see,  here  comes  the  knave 
Pablo  to  him. 

(Enter   PABLO.) 

PAB. 

God  save  your  worship,  Senor  Mendoza.  Good  e'en, 
honest  Silvano.  Is  your  master  at  home? 

SILV. 
Why  if  he  be  at  home,  what  is  that  to  you  ? 

PAB. 

So  much  that  I  must  even  beg  of  your  friendship  to  be 
admitted  to  speak  with  him. 

SILV. 

<To  be  dinged  over  the  head  with  an  old  ledger,  or  a 
bundle  of  ingots?  Why  thou  graceless,  besotted 
vagabond!  what  puts  it  into  thy  mind  to  think 
he  would  lend  thee  anything? 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  641 

PAB. 

Why  if  I  have  good  security,  why  not  ?  I  am  as  honest 
a  man  as  another,  I  care  not  who  knows  it.  I 
have  business  with  Senor  Febro,  your  master;  and 
you  were  best  tell  him  so,  for  it  concerns  him  to 
know. 

MEN. 

If  thou  wert  not  beyond  the  belief  of  an  honest  man 
thy  impudence  would  utterly  ruin  the  fame  of  an 
honest  man.>  How  canst  thou  have  the  folly 
to  think  that  Febro  will  speak  with  thee?  Pr'y- 
thee  get  thee  gone,  ere  he  come  out  and  do  thee 
some  violence. 

PAB. 

Who  knows?  I  am  here  on  mine  own  business;  and  I 
will  have  the  law  of  any  one  that  hinders  me. 

S1LV. 

If  thou  wilt  have  the  law,  it  must  come  to  thee  in  shape 
of  a  halter.  Go,  you  rogue,  get  you  gone. — Law! 
were  there  any  law  in  Bogota,  thou  shouldst  have 
been  the  first  chapter  of  its  execution. 

PAB. 

I  will  not  go  till  I  see  Senor  Febro ;  and  if  you  cease  not 
reviling  me,  you  rascal  crumb-eater!  you  door- 
hinge!  you  cloak-thumper!  you  look  for  an  old 
hat!  I'll  beat  your  bones  into  brickdust.  You 
rascal !  You  will  have  me  in  a  passion  ?  You  will 
deny  me  to  see  your  master?  You  will  call  me 
scurvy  names? — 
41 


642    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

MEN. 

Out,  sirrah!  will  you  brawl  before  Febro's  door?  See, 
your  insolence  has  drawn  him  forth,  and  now  you 
will  answer  it. 

(Enter  FEBRO.) 

S1LV. 

Ay,  now  look,  you  rascal;  now  you  will  be  talked  to. 

PAB. 

Good,  your  worship,  Senor  Febro !  I  have  a  message 
from  your  son. 

FEB. 

From  Ramon? 

PAB. 

From  Ramon,  senor;  and  this  noisy,  idle,  lick-mouthed 
platter-monger — 

SILV. 

Please,  your  worship,  I  said  you  would  speak  with  no 
such  base  fellow. 

FEB. 

You  were  overforward,  sirrah ! 

MEN. 
What,  Febro !  it  is  not  creditable  to  notice  such  a  man. 

FEB. 

Good  friend,  you  shall  pardon  me — I  will  be  mine  own 
adviser.  Senor  Mendoza,  you  are  welcome.  If 
you  fear  the  taint  of  his  presence,  you  can  walk  by. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  643 

MEN. 

(Apart  to  SILVANO.) 
We  will  observe  this  interview  from  a  distance. 

(Exit,  with  SILVANO.) 

FEB. 

Now,  sirrah,  what  message  sends  Ramon  by  such  a 
messenger? 

PAB. 

I  hope  your  favor  will  pardon  me — I  have  harbored 
the  young  senor  long. 

FEB. 

Speak  the  message,  and  no  more.  He  sends  thee  to  me 
for  money? 

PAB. 

Hoping  your  excellent  mercy  will  pity  his  misery, 
which  is  greater  than  he  can  bear,  and  my  pov 
erty,  which  enforces  me  to  pray  your  goodness 
for  some  relief. 

FEB. 
Why,  what  care  I  for  thy  poverty? 

PAB. 

My  friendship  for  the  young  man  has  brought  me  into 
great  necessity;  and  here  he  acknowledges,  unless 
I  am  paid,  I  may  justly  throw  him  into  prison. 
But  I  hope  your  worship  will  not  compel  me. 

FEB. 

<  A  thousand  ducats !  Thou  art  a  lying  knave :  where 
got'st  thou  a  thousand  ducats  to  lend  him? 


644   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PAB. 

O,  there  is  much  of  that  that  was  the  cost  of  his  food 
and  lodging;  and  then  for  the  rest,  I  borrowed  it, 
to  help  him  open  his  mine.  But  'twas  opened 
without  profit,  the  money  was  swallowed,  my 
creditor  is  enraged;  and  now  the  end  is  this — I 
must  send  Senor  Ramon  to  prison,  or  go  myself 
which  he  here  confesses,  and  prays  your  bounty  to 
protect  us  both. 

FEB. 

And  hast  thou  the  impudence  to  suppose  I  will  give 
thee  a  penny  to  save  thee  from  this  fate  ? 


PAB. 

No,  senor,  but  I  think  you  will  do  this  much  to  save 
Ramon — whereby  I  shall  be  saved  myself.  > 


FEB. 

Do  as  thou  wilt ;  thou  shalt  have  no  money.  Put  him 
in  prison — I  am  content.  He  shall  have  nothing 
to  keep  him  from  the  fangs  of  thee  and  thy  com 
panions,  whom  he  has  chosen  his  friends. 


PAB. 

Truly,  sir,  misfortune  is  no  elector  of  friendships,  as, 
by  mine  honesty,  I  know  full  well.  I  am  myself 
forced  by  my  necessities  to  love  men  I  hate ;  and 
surely,  I  think,  Senor  Ramon  would  not,  unless 
obliged  by  his  misfortunes  willingly  consort  with 
men  of  my  degree. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  645 

<FEB. 

Dost  thou  speak  this  in  honesty  and  humility?  or  is  it  a 
lure  to  deceive  me  ? 

PAB. 

Oh,  sir,  I  have  known  better  days;  and  therefore  do  I 
pity  Sefior  Ramon,  because  I  see  him  treading  the 
same  path  of  folly,  which  led  me  into  my  present 
baseness. 

FEB. 

I  have  mistaken  thee !  > 

PAB. 

I  have  counselled  him,  too,  against  his  gambling  and 
his  drinking;  for,  besides  that  I  saw  how  such 
courses  would  utterly  ruin  him,  I  had  no  hopes  of 
ever  being  paid  for  the  cost  of  supplying  him. 

FEB. 

Oh,  then,  if  thy  interest  run  the  same  way  with  thy 
humanity,  I  have  much  reason  to  believe  thee 
honest. 

PAB. 

Truly,  it  is  a  sad  sight  to  see  a  young  man  led  astray 
by  evil  companions — a  young  man,  and  good. 

FEB. 

Young,  and  once  good! 

PAB. 

I  cautioned  him  that  Cabarero  was  a  most  dangerous 
companion;  it  was  no  honor  to  be  friends  with 
such  a  hidalgo. 


646   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

Thou  didst ! 

PAB. 

In  faith,  I  told  him,  Don  Antonio  had  been  the  ruin  of 
every  young  man  he  had  sworn  love  to;  and  he 
might  see  what  good  had  come  of  his  friendship, 
when  he  looked  on  his  own  wretchedness. 

FEB. 

<Is  it  possible  I  have  wronged  thee  so  much?> 
Thou  didst  tell  him  this?  Well,  what  said  he? 

PAB. 

He  wept,  and  said,  his  father's  severity  had  left  him 
no  other  choice — 

FEB. 

Ah! 

PAB. 

And  swore  if  thou  wouldst  forgive  him,  he  would  never 
more  speak  with  Cabarero.  But,  he  knew,  thou 
wouldst  not. 

FEB. 

Tell  me  the  truth,  Pablo,  and  thou  shalt  not  be  sorry. 
Did  Ramon  say  this?  What!  never  more  speak 
with  Cabarero. 

PAB. 

I  were  but  an  infidel  to  belie  him — he  said  this,  with 
many  tears — 

FEB. 
With  tears? 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  647 

PAB. 

Crying,  in  his  despair,  it  was  no  matter,  thou  hadst 
forsaken  him  and  the  sooner  his  ruin  was  accom 
plished,  the  better;  thou  wouldst  have  no  more 
shame,  when  he  was  in  his  grave. 

FEB. 

In  his  grave?    Is  he  reduced  to  this  despair? 

PAB. 

Despair  indeed!  All  last  night  while  Cabarero  was 
drinking,  he  did  nothing  but  kiss  an  old  rosary, 
that  he  wears  round  his  neck,  with  a  devout 
passion  <that  nothing  but  great  misery  could 
breed  up  in  a  young  man.  > 

FEB. 

That  rosary  did  I  give  him,  in  his  youth. 

It  is  enough — he  is  not  all  depraved. 

Pablo !  mine  own  eyes  shall  be  witness 

Of  his  contrition;  and  haply,  if  I  find 

What  thou  hast  spoken  is  to  them  confirmed, 

Thou  shalt  have  all  that  he  does  rightly  owe  thee, 

And  more,  to  mark  my  favor. 

PAB. 

Please  your  worship,  'tis  very  true — A  thousand 
ducats,  senor. 

FEB. 

Till  I  am  satisfied  thou  shalt  have  nothing. 
Tonight,  I'll  come  to  thee,  and  suddenly 


648    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Appear  before  him;  <when,  indeed,  if  sorrow 
Be  working  at  his  heart,  it  needs  must  out 
Into  a  bursting  penitence.  > 

PAD. 

God  bless  your  worship ! 
I'll  have  Antonio  set  aside. 

FEB. 

That  villain! 

I  have  had  sinful  dreams,  and  sometimes,  almost 
Have  thought  to  buy  some  rogue  to  take  his  life. 

<  I  fear  me,  Ramon  cannot  be  my  Ramon, 
While  Cabarero  lives  to  tempt  him.  > 

PAB. 

O,  your  worship, 

There  are  men,  who  for  a  recompense  would  put  him 
Out  of  the  way — Perhaps  a  thousand  ducats — 
At  most  two  thousand — yes,  in  faith,  two  thousand, 
With  some  few  charges  to  escape  the  law, 
Might  have  him  cared  for. 

FEB. 

Nay,  leave  him  to  heaven : 
I'll  buy  no  Ramon  at  the  price  of  blood. 

<  After  the  nightfall,  I  will  come  to  thee.  > 
Be  sure  thou  dost  not  speak  of  mine  intent — 
<Thou  shalt  have  nothing  else:  speak  not  a  word.  > 
Expect  me — Now,  away. 

PAB. 

Alack,  your  worship 

Will  give  me  no  relief  ?    Some  little  money 
To  buy  the  boy  a  supper — we  are  very  wretched ! 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  649 

FEB. 

What,  wanting  food?    O,  heaven,  my  strictness  runs 
Into  a  wicked,  barbarous  cruelty! 
Here's  gold — Buy  food;  but  say  not  whence  it  comes. 
I'll  bear  enough  to  free  him  from  thy  hands, 
After  the  vespers — Mark  me,  after  vespers. 
<Away  now,  thou  shalt  see  me  after  vespers  !> 

(Exeunt.) 

END  OF  ACT  II. 


ACT  III 

SCENE    I.     A    room    in    PABLO'S    Inn.       (Enter 
CABARERO  and  PABLO.) 

CAB. 

After  the  vespers?  he  will  come  himself?  Every  way, 
this  is  extravagant  good  fortune.  He  will  bring 
gold  too?  Better  still!  That  gold,  were  he  an 
angel,  shall  witness  him  out  of  heaven.  He  shall 
call  me  rogue  and  cur,  and  such  vile  names,  and 
not  be  remembered  ?  he  shall  gibe  me  when  I  offer 
to  ennoble  his  dowdy  daughter?  Oh,  I  have  often 
dreamed  how  he  should  repent  him! 

PAB. 

Come,  'slife,  this  will  be  too  improbable,  and  danger 
ous. 

CAB. 
He  would  hire  thee  to  assassinate  me  too? 

PAB. 

Ay,  never  believe  me  else :  he  offered  me  two  thousand 
ducats  to  slay  thee.  But  I  told  him  thou  wert  my 
true  friend  and  I  would  not  kill  thee  for  so  little. 

CAB. 

A  rope  for  a  dagger!  a  gibbet  for  a  ditch!     Oh,  I  see 
him,  as  in  a  picture,  with  the  priest  at  his  side, 
650 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  651 

the  hangman  at  his  neck,  and  the  multitude 
hooting  him  to  the  scaffold,  and  all  the  while,  I 
am  rattling  his  dollars  in  my  pocket ! 

PAB. 

<  I  tell  thee,  I  like  not  this  plan.  Here  are  two  others: 
—First — we  will  take  Ramon  into  our  counsel, 
reconcile  him  with  his  father  and  use  him  for  our 
banker. 

CAB. 

Hang  him,  no:  his  milk  and  water  cowardice  will  keep 
us  beggars.  If  his  father  forgive  him,  he  will 
repent  and  forsake  us. 

PAB. 

Why,  then — as  the  old  man  will  bring  a  thousand 
ducats  with  him — we  may  help  him  to  a  ditch, 
and  so  make  sure  of  that :  for  otherwise,  he  will  see 
I  am  cheating  him,  and  give  me  nothing. 

CAB. 

No  killing! — except  by  the  laws.  Every  way,  I  assure 
thee,  this  plan  is  the  best.  It  is  easiest,  it  veils  us 
from  suspicion,  and  it  makes  us  most  profit.  If 
we  are  in  danger,  it  is  our  only  safety.  > 

PAB. 

Well,  I  understand  all — But  if  the  viceroy  should 
hang  me? 

CAB. 

Thou  art  the  king's  witness,  thy  life  is  secure;  'tis  but 
a  week  in  prison,  and  thou  comest  out  purified 
with  a  pardon. 


652    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 


PAB. 


A  week  in  prison!  Before  the  week  is  over,  they  may 
sift  out  the  truth  and  give  me  to  Satan. 

CAB. 

Why,  then,  we  will  bribe  thee  out  of  the  jailer's  hands, 
though  it  should  cost  a  thousand  pesos. 

PAB. 

That's  too  much!    I  will  get  a  man  out  for  half  that. 

CAB. 

Wouldst  thou  be  economical  with  thine  own  neck? 
Thy  share  shall  not  be  the  less,  whatsoever  be  the 
cost. 

PAB. 
The  story  will  be  too  incredible. 

CAB. 

Is  not  Ramon  a  good  witness?  Who  shall  resist  his 
testimony  ? 

PAB. 

But  will  he  appear? 

CAB. 

As  surely  as  thou  shalt;  for  he  has  that  baseness  of 
cowardice,  he  will  sell  the  lives  of  all  his  friends, 
to  save  the  worthlessness  of  his  own. 

PAB. 

I  must  have  a  full  third. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  653 


CAB. 

A  full  half !  Methinks  that  were  but  scurvy  generosity 
to  share  our  gains  with  this  whining,  unnatural 
rogue,  who  is  but  the  cipher  of  the  triumvirate! 

PAB. 

I  think  so  too !  <  Tis  but  honest  to  cheat  him  who 
cheats  his  father.  > 

CAB. 

Remember  that  every  coin  carries  the  private  mark  of 
the  broker;  wherefore  we  must  bury  it  till  the  hue 
and  cry  be  over,  and  then  melt  it  into  ingots,  as 
if  it  came  from  a  mine.  Harkee! — we  will  bury  it 
in  two  portions,  in  one  a  thousand  pesos  or  so; 
this  shalt  thou  show  the  officers.  But  the  other 
thou  must  swear  was  hidden  from  thee. 

PAB. 

<  I  warrant  me ;  but  if  you  deceive  me,  I  will  impeach 
you,  by  St.  Geronimo,  I  will ! 

CAB. 

Fear  not;  I  can  do  nothing  without  thee.  We  will  to 
Spain  together. 

PAB. 

With  all  my  heart,  and  without  Ramon? 

CAB. 

Oh,  he  will  marry  Mendo/a's  daughter;  and  in  the 
rapture  of  his  matrimony,  what  will  be  the  loss  of 
a  little  money  to  him?> 


654    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

I 

PAB. 

Well,  I  am  agreed:  I  long  for  the  vesper  bell.  But 
remember,  I  say,  Cabarero,  no  roguery! 

CAB. 

Not  a  little,  I  tell  thee:  we  will  rob  and  cheat  like 
honest  gentlemen  and  friends,  <and  enjoy  our 
good  fortune  together.  >  Come,  I  left  Ramon  at 
the  bottle,  and  now  he  will  be  brave  enough  to 
lead  to  the  vaults  of  darkness,  or — his  father. 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  II.     A   room  in  FEBRO'S  house.      (Enter 
LEONOR  and  FERNANDO.) 

LEON. 

Pray  you,  begone;  I  did  not  promise  you; 
And  if  my  father  hear  you,  oh,  dear  saints, 
I  shall  have  no  more  peace  to  stay  with  him. 

FERN. 

Wilt  thou  then  stay  and  marry  Baltasar? 
Now,  wert  thou  half  as  wise  as  other  maids, 
Thou  wouldst  not  fright  at  this  brave  opportunity, 
But  chain  me  on  the  instant.    Silly  love! 
Though  I  am  mad  enough  to  fly  tonight, 
Tomorrow  may  my  father's  strength  prevail, 
And  bond  me  to  another. 

LEON. 

Indeed!  indeed! 
And  is  there  fear  your  sire  will  be  so  cruel  ? 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  655 

FERN. 

Nay,  very  certain.    The  anger  of  your  father 

Is  but  a  matchlight,  kindling  on  the  instant, 

And,  on  the  instant,  with  a  sigh  put  out; 

But  my  sire's  rage  will  be  a  conflagration. 

<  Lit  in  a  mine,  and  roaring  on  forever. 

Oh,  I  could  tell  thee  stories  of  my  sire, 

And  of  myself,  if  so  I  durst,  would  make  thee 

Instant  and  resolute.    For  know,  thou  doubter, 

Whate'er  his  worth,  my  father  loves  me  well: 

And  know  I  not  how  long  I  might  have  courage 

To  act  the  sin  will  lose  me  all  that  love, 

And  gain  me  all  that  fury.  >    Wherefore,  quick ! 

While  our  fates  smile  on  us,  let  us  begone. 

LEON. 

In  sooth,  'tis  wrong. 

FERN. 

Why,  here's  a  delicate  bundle 
Might  grace  the  shoulder  of  a  soldier's  spouse, 
As  sister  to  a  knapsack. 

LEON. 

Alack,  for  pity! 
'Twill  break  my  father's  heart. 

FERN. 

<It  shall  be  mended. 

Now,  with  my  life>  I'll  warrant  his  forgiveness: 
Would  I  could  hope  my  father's !    A  rogue  am  I. — 
Thou  know'st  not  at  how  rich  a  cost  I  buy  thee. 
Come,  do  not  weep :  I  swear,  this  flight  will  bring  thee 
Nothing  but  happiness.    'Tis  I  alone 
Will  feel  the  punishment. 


656    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

LEON. 

And  wilt  thou  feel  it? 
I  am  determined  then  I  will  not  fly, — 
Thus  to  bring  trouble  to  thee. 

FERN. 

<Why,    here's   a   wind, 

Fooling  the  compass!  and  yet  so  sweet  and  pleasant, 
Breathing  the  gentle  odors  of  true  love, 
That  I'll  forgive  it.    Fear  not  thou  for  me; > 
Whatever  of  state  and  men's  consideration, 
Whate'er  of  hope,  or  what  of  certainty, 
To  rise  to  greatness,  I  give  up  for  thee, 
<  I  give  up  with  good  will — at  first,  with  fear 
And  strong  reluctance,  but,  at  this  good  hour 
With  joy  and  pride;  > for  now  I  know  that  fate 
May  hide  more  harjpiness  in  a  lowly  cot, 
Than  e'er  the  thrones  in  great  men's  palaces. 
< So  to  a  cot  we'll  hie  us,  in  some  nook 
Of  a  delicious  valley,  where  the  mountains, 
Walling  us  in  with  azure,  up  to  heaven, 
Shut  out  all  things  but  heaven.  > 

LEON. 

O,  heaven  be  with  me ! 
I  fear  to  fly.    Come  thou  some  other  time : 
Let  me  think  more  of  this.    Come  back  tomorrow — 
Let  me  think  more;  and,  as  I  think,  once  more 
Look  on  my  father's  face. 

FERN. 

A  thousand  times, 

After  tonight,  for  he  will  soon  forgive  thee. — 
Nay,  look  not  back. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  657 

LEON. 

Ah !  hark !  we  are  discovered ! — 
Another  time — He  is  stirring  in  the  vault ! 

FERN. 
Pause  not,  the  door  is  open. 

LEON. 

It  is  too  late: 
I  hear  my  brother's  step !    Away,  Rolando ! 

FERN. 

This  comes  of  trembling ! 

LEON. 

Tomorrow  night — 

FERN. 

Tomorrow ! 
Farewell,  and  dream  of  me.  (Exit.) 

LEON. 

He'll  see  the  bundle!— 
(Enter  JUANA.) 
My  friend  and  Ramon's  love !    She  saw  Rolando ! 

JUAN. 

Why,  Leonor,  does  no  one  watch  the  door? 
This  might  invite  a  robbery. 

LEON. 

Odd's  heart,   a  robbery! 

42 


658    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

JUAN. 

And  how  you  tremble! 

LEON. 

I  am  not  afeard ! 

My  father  is  in  the  vaults;  and  so  I  am  not 
Afeard  of  him  or  any  other  man. 

JUAN. 

Afeard  of  him !    Oh !  you  are  much  confused. 
Afraid  of  him!    Why,  sure  it  was  no  rogue, 
Although,  good  sooth,  he  muffled  up  his  face, 
As  he  brushed  by  me — Tell  me,  Leonor — 
I  thought  'twas  Ramon! 

LEON. 

And  perhaps  it  was — 

JUAN. 

Was  it  indeed !  and  did  he  see  his  father? 
And  will  his  father  pardon  him? — Oh,  for  pity! 
How  could  it  be  so,  when  so  timorously 
He  stole  away,  and  stole  away  from  me? 
<Why  shouldst  thou  hide  it  from  me?> 

LEON. 

Did  you  see  anybody? 
Why  Ramon  was  not  here. 

JUAN. 

Who  could  it  be? 

Sure  you  are  not  ignorant,  some  man — some  stranger, 
Cloaked  to  the  eyes,  was.  stealing  through  the  house  ? 
Indeed  you  should  call  your  father. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  659 

LEON. 

He  would  be  angry- 
Frightened,  I  mean— 

JUAN. 

Oho!  a  bundle  nicely  tied 
In  a  fair  Eastern  kerchief!  and  a  man 
•  Stealing  away !  and  then  these  thousand  blushes, 
And  contradictions ! — 

LEON. 

Oh,  my  dear  Juana! 
You'll  not  betray  me ! 

JUAN. 

Shall  I  laugh  at  thee? 
I  will  not  frown;  I  am  not  one  of  those 
That  step  between  true  hearts,  and  break  them — Go; 
Think  what  thou  doest,  before  thou  art  resolved; 
Think  what  thou  doest,  before  thou  leavest  thy  father ; 
Think  of  him  well ;  think  of  thy  brothers  too ; 
Think  of  thy  lover,  is  he  good  and  worthy; 
<  Think  of  thyself,  thy  maiden  reputation — > 
Think  of  thyself;  then,  if  thy  heart  confirms  thee, 
Follow  the  guidance  of  thy  love,  and  go, 
<With  heaven  to  comfort  thee — /  will  not  stay  thee. 
I  would  have  no  heart  suffer,  save  my  own.  > 
But  be  not  rash,  be  not  precipitate : 
Methinks  your  flight  would  break  your  father's  heart. 

LEON. 

I  will  not  leave  him,  for  I  know  indeed, 
(Heaven  pardon  me  that  e'er  I  should  forget  it!) 
He  is  wo  enough  for  Ramon. 


66o   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

JUAN. 

Is  he  indeed? 

If  that  be  so,  then  have  I  happier  hopes 
To  charm  his  anger  into  loving  pardon. 
I  came  to  be  his  suitor. 

LEON. 

Shall  I  call  him? 

And  yet  I  fear  to  have  you  pray  him  now. 
He  has  been  vexed  a  thousand  times  today. 
And  was  a  little  strange  and  irritable. 
These  crosses  move  him  deeper  than  of  old — 
Tomorrow  will  be  better. 

JUAN. 

Think  not  so. 

The  happiness,  almost  the  life  of  Ramon 
Rests  on  a  speedy  pardon. 

LEON. 

He  is  in  the  vault 

About  some  project.    If  you'll  wait  awhile, 
Francisco  will  come  back,  and  call  him  forth — 
Nay,  there's  my  brother! 

(Enter  MENDOZA  and  SILVANO.) 


It  is  impossible. 


MEN. 

I  tell  thee,  good  Silvano, 

SILV. 

Ask  my  mistress  else. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  661 

JUAN. 

Father! 

LEON. 

What  is  the  senor's  will? 

MEN. 

By  heaven! 

There's  roguery  afoot!    Where  is  your  father? 
There  are  knaves  a-robbing  him. 

(Exit  SILVANO.) 

LEON. 

Good  sir,  for  pity, 

What  do  you  mean?    My  father,  these  two  hours, 
Has  been  i'  the  vaults. 

MEN. 
/ 

I  say  it  cannot  be : 

There  are  ruffians  in  the  garden :  by  this  hand, 
I  saw  a  lantern  twice  flash  through  the  trees, 
Heard  voices  murmuring  and — 

(Re-enter  SILVANO.) 

SILV. 

The  vault  is  locked: 

Heaven  guard  him  well,  my  master  is  not  there! 
I'll  to  the  garden.  (Exit.) 

LEON. 

He  did  not  come  out ! 
Perhaps  they  have  murdered  him ! 


662    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

MEN. 

What,  help !  ho,  help ! 
Here's  villainy!  foul,  bloody  villainy! 

(Enter  FRANCISCO.) 

O,  wretched  boy,  your  father's  vaults  are  robbed, 
And  he  perhaps  is  murdered ! 

(Exit  FRANCISCO.) 

LEON. 

Give  him  help: 
He  is  old  and  feeble. 

JUAN. 

<  Do  not  be  dismayed.  > 
(Re-enter  SILVANO,  bearing  a  cloak.) 

SILV. 

Thieves!  thieves!  we  are  robbed!  the  garden  gate  is 

open, 
The  cellar  wall  broke  through,  the  vault  exposed. 

(Re-enter  FRANCISCO.) 

This  found  I  hanging  on  a  cactus  bush; 
This  morn  I  noted  it  on  Pablo's  back. 
I  know  the  robber! 

FRAN. 

Run  thou  for  alguazils, 
And  follow  me  to  Pablo's — Sister,  fear  not : 
The  door  is  locked,  my  father  is  not  there — 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  663 

It  is  no  murder,  but  a  robbery. 

Senor  Mendoza,  will  you  go  with  me 

Or  tarry  here,  and  break  this  to  my  father  ? 

MEN. 

Nay,  I  will  go  with  you — Stay  with  the  girl.  (To 
JUAN  A.) 

0  my  life,  the  strangest  marvel !  Robbed  by  Pablo ! 
We  must  be  quick — A  most  strange  villainy ! 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  III.  A  room  in  PABLO'S  Inn.  (Enter 
PABLO,  RAMON,  and  CAB  ARE  RO  each  bearing  a  bag  of 
coin.) 

CAB. 

Victoria!  Thou  art  revenged,  enriched  and  beatified; 
the  mine  is  found,  and  Juana  is  thine  own !  We 
will  melt  these  dollars  into  ingots,  show  them  to 
Mendoza,  and,  tomorrow,  thou  wilt  be  in  paradise. 

RAM. 

In  hell,  I  think;  for  what  devil  is  blacker  than  I  ?  But 
he  forced  me  to  it ! 

CAB. 

Ay,  he  forced  thee  to  it. 

RAM. 

We  are  followed  too;  I  hear  the  hue  and  cry!  Let  us 
escape — Do  you  not  hear? 

CAB. 

1  hear  the  beating  of  thy  silly  heart.     Why  what  a 

cowardly   poor-spirited    knave  hath  vile  liquor 


664    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

made  thee! — Pablo,  thou  art  the  king  of  cheats — 
Wine,  and  a  crucible,  and  a  roaring  hot  fire — I 
tell  thee,  thou  art  mad !  All  is  safe. 

RAM. 

Hark,  hark,  Antonio! 

CAB. 

Tis  the  rumbling  of  a  cart.      Fy  upon  thy  white  giz 
zard  !    Wilt  thou  never  make  a  rascal  of  spirit  ? 
(A  knocking.) 

(  RAM.  ) 
(   PAD.  | 

Hark! 

RAM. 

We  are  lost!  we  are  lost! 

CAB. 

(To  PABLO.) 
Down  with  thee  to  the  door,  and  be  wise. 

(Exit  PABLO  [CABARERO  hides  the  gold].) 

RAM. 
We  are  undone! 

CAB. 

I  will  stab  thee,  if  thou  goest  on  with  this  clamor. 

RAM. 

Antonio ! 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  665 

CAB. 

Art  thou  not  now  a  rascal  ?  and  why  shouldst  thou  not 
have  the  wit  and  courage  of  a  rascal?  Put  on  a 
face  of  iron,  and  harden  thy  nerves  into  the  same 
metal. — This  is  a  friend — Lo,  he  comes  to  spy  on 
thee! 

(Re-enter  PABLO,  conducting  FEBRO   [FEBRO  bearing 
a  bag  of  coin].) 

He  can  never  forgive  thee  now,  remember  that. — 
Good  even,  Senor  Febro,  you  are  very  welcome. 

FEB. 

Away,  bad  man!    I'll  have  no  words  with  thee. 
My  office  here  is  full  of  love  and  peace. 
And  hath  no  part  in  thee,  except  to  steal 
A  victim  from  thee.    Hark  thee,  Ramon,  boy; 
Thou  once  wert  good,  and  dutiful  and  loving — 
Loving,  I  say,  and  then,  besides,  thou  wert 
The  first  life  of  thy  mother.    What  thou  wert 
To  mine  own  old  affections,  I'll  not  speak. 
Thou  hast  acted  many  follies;  yet,  because 
<Of  mine  own  weakness,  and  because  I  know> 
They  have  weighed  thee  down  with  heavy  misery, 
I  am  willing  to  forgive  them. 

RAM. 

Hah! 

FEB. 

<  Forgive  them !  > 

One  thing  alone — and  if  thy  heart  yet  holds 
A  grain  of  love,  it  will  not  start  at  that; 
<One  thing  alone  will  bear  thee  back  again 


666   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Into  my  house — perhaps  my  heart  too.  >     Bid 
Farewell  unto  this  man,  who  loves  thee  not; 
Know  him  no  more ;  and  here  am  I  to  free  thee 
From  his  bad  thraldom — Look,  I  have  gold  with  me. 

(Displaying  a  bag.) 
Enough  to  ransom  thee. 

RAM. 

What,  gold! 

FEB. 

I  heard 
How  far  thy  miseries  had  carried  thee. 

RAM. 

What  gold  ?  hah !  gold  for  me  ? 

FEB. 

Thou  seest!  enough 

Perhaps  o'  the  present,  to  discharge  thy  debts. 
And  make  thee  good  and  happy  once  again. 

RAM. 

Ha!  ha! 

Thou  couldst  relent  then  ?    Why  thou  art  gone  mad — 

Thou  bring'st  me  money!    It  is  too  late. 

<CAB. 

(Apart  to  RAMON.) 
Well  said! 

Thou  art  a  man.     He  waited  his  pleasure.     What  has 
he  made  thee  ?  > 

FEB. 

Ramon,  my  son! 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  667 

RAM. 

Oho !  thy  son ! 

Why  what  a  father  had  that  son?  a  father 
Who,  while  forgiveness  would  have  wrought  the  son 
Into  a  holy  penitent,  gave  him  wrath, 
And  turned  him  to  perdition — What  a  father! 
To  do  this  mischief  to  his  child ;  and  when 
He  saw  his  child  i'  the  gulf  of  hell,  to  taunt  him 
With  words  of  pardon ! 

CAB. 

Bravo !  a  proper  spirit ! 

Thou  seest,  old  man!  thou  wouldst  not  hearken  to  me. 
Oho,  I  begged  you;  but  you  called  me  rogue — 
Villain,  and  rogue. — 

FEB. 

Ramon,  thou  knowst  not  what  thou  sayest.     Perhaps 
I  was  too  hard  with  thee;  but  I  repent  me, 
Wilt  thou  have  pardon?  love  and  pardon? 

RAM. 

Yea; 

Curses  for  pardon,  and  a  knife  for  love! 

I  am  not  thy  son ;  the  thing  that  was  thy  Ramon 

Is  perished !  lost,  forever  lost !  no  atom 

That  once  was  his,  left  breathing, — all  destroyed, 

And  made  the  elements  of  fiends — Oh,  hence! 

Away!  old  maniac,  hence! 


And  listen  to  my  boy? 


FEB. 

Do  I  live 


668    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PAB. 

Hark! 

VOICES  WITHIN. 

Thieves! 

FEB. 

0,  heaven, 

Thou  judges!  sorely!    Is  it  so  indeed? 
Would  I  had  died  or  ere  I  heard  these  words. 
These  worse  than  death!     Well,  God  be  with  thee, 

Ramon : 
Thou  hast  killed  thy  father. 

VOICES. 

Thieves!  thieves!  thieves! 

(Enter  FRANCISCO,  SILVANO,  MENDOZA,  with  Alguazils. 
As  they  enter,  CABARERO  seizes  upon  FEBRO.) 

CAB. 

Stand  fast! 
Old  rogue,  dost  think  to  'scape!    The  laws  will  have 

thee. 
The  laws,  I  say,  hah! 

FRAN. 

Father! 

CAB. 

Off,  thoucub! 

Touch  not  the  rogue.    Your  prisoner,  officers! 
Febro,  the  robber  of  Febro! 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  669 

FRAN. 

Villain  and  fiend ! 
(He  is  held.) 

FEB. 

What  is  the  matter,  son  ?    Will  no  man  drag 
This  fellow  from  me? 


A  felon  knave. 


CAB. 

Your  prisoner,  officers ! 


FRAN. 

O,  father!  father!— Brother! 
Why  don't  you  speak  ?   Why  don't  iyou  kill  the  villain  ? 

CAB. 

(Apart  to  RAMON.) 

Away  with  thee!  (Exit  RAMON.) 

Your  prisoner,  officers! 
Whom  I  do  here  accuse,  with  witnesses 
More  perfect  than  myself,  of  robbery 
And  fraud  upon  his  trust.    And  here  you  have 
In  his  own  hands,  part  of  his  felony; 
And,  there  i'  the  corner,  more  of  his  vile  crime. 

FEB. 
Thou  raving  ruffian ! 

MEN. 

What,  Antonio  ? 
Chargest  thou  Febro  with  self -robbery  ? 

FEB. 

Why,  who  is  robbed? 


670    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FRAN. 

O,  father! 

CAB. 

It  shall  be  proved. 

PAB. 
I  claim  the  royal  mercy. 

MEN. 

Shake  off  this  stare, 

Art  thou  insane  ?    They  do  accuse  thee,  Febro, 
Of  robbing  thine  own  vaults. 

FEB. 

Do  I  not  dream? 

MEN. 

<Thy  doors  are  broke. 

FEB. 

I  am  ruined! 

CAB. 

Hark !  he  owns  it ! 

It  shall  be  proved  before  his  excellency, 
Perfectly  proved,  with  witnesses  enough. 
Here's  Pablo,  his  accomplice,  has  confessed.  > 

FRAN. 

O,  father! 

FEB. 

Robbed? 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  671 

CAB. 

<  Take  him  before  the  viceroy — 

FEB. 

I'll  have  the  villain  for  ten  thousand  ducats: 
I'll  have  it  proclaimed. 

FRAN. 
O,  father! 

FEB. 

Robbed? 

CAB. 

Away?> 

— He  apes  amaze.    Carry  him  to  the  viceroy. 
It  shall  be  proved  before  his  excellency. 

[ALL. 
Away !    Away !    Away !] 

(Exeunt  [Omnes.    FEBRO  in  the  hands  of  the  Alguazil.}.) 

END  OF  ACT  III. 


ACT  IV 

SCENE  I.     A  room  in  the  vice-regal  palace.    (Enter 
the  Viceroy,  attended.) 

PALM. 

They  are  insane  that  say't — the  broker  robbed ! 
And  Febro  turned  a  rogue !    Now  surely  madness 
May  sweep  o'er  nations  like  a  pestilence, 
And  folly,  like  a  corporal  epidemic, 
Fever  the  minds  of  all.    What  is't  but  madness, 
Could  fill  the  city  with  this  riotous  cry, 
Febro  is  robbed.    Febro  hath  done  a  fraud? 
<  I  know  the  man — sure  of  all  men  most  honest, 
And — I  did  think — most  cautious.    Yet  it  may  be, 
As  my  fear  whispers  me,  he  has  been  robbed, 
And  those — I  know,  I  feel,  how  that  may  be — 
Those  who  have  suffered  in  his  losses,  raise, 
From  grief  and  rage,  the  cry  of  villainy — > 
What !  do  they  bring  their  fury  to  the  palace? 

1ST   OFFICER. 

Even  so,  your  excellency;  they  have  dragged 
The  broker  to  the  gates,  and  cry  for  justice. 

PALM. 

Justice  for  all !    Set  them  before  us  straight. 
That  he  who  needs  it  most,  this  poor  old  man, 
May  be  protected  from  the  accusers'  rage, 
And  they  be  taught  how  foolishly  they  wrong  him. 

672 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  673 

(Enter  CABARERO,  RAMON,  MENDOZA,  FRANCISCO,  with 
Officers  bringing  FEBRO  and  PABLO.  CABARERO, 
and  some  others,  crying  Justice!  justice!) 

PALM. 

What  now,  ye  violent  and  thoughtless  men, 
What  crime  you  are  committing,  know  you  not, 
Thus,  with  rude  hands,  dishonoring  the  body, 
And,  with  rude  tongues,  the  name  and  reputation, 
Of  a  most  honest  worthy  citizen? 

CAB. 

Your  excellency  is  deceived;  this  man 
Is  a  most  subtle  and  confirmed  rogue, 
<As  will  be  witnessed  to  your  excellency. 

PALM. 

What,   Febro!   dost  thou  hear?     What  means  this 

charge  ? 
Why  do  I  find  thee  thus?> 

FRAN. 

Oh,  noble  viceroy, 

Punish  these  men,  that,  with  such  slanderous  hate, 
Destroy  my  father. 

CAB. 

The  prisoner,  please  your  highness, 
Has  been  discovered  in  a  knavish  fraud. 

PALM. 

Hold  thy  peace,  yet.— What,  Febro 

43 


674    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

I  will  speak — 

Thou  rogue,  I'll  have  thee  howl!    Ay,  by  my  troth, 
And  every  man  of  them.    Are  they  all  crazed? 
<Oh,  I  am  glad  to  see  your  excellency — 
These  rogues !  these  rogues !    O,  but  that  I  have  lost 
My  faculties  in  wonder,  I  could  speak 
Till   they   were   struck   with   shame.     What  is   the 

matter  ?  > 

Their  cry  is,  I  am  robbed.    I  know  not  that; 
<Pray  you  discharge  me,  let  me  see  to  it. 
I  cannot  think't;  and  yet  it  may  be  so. 
I  may  be  robbed  (heaven  pity  mine  old  age !) 
And  many  wronged  with  me — But  'tis  not  that.  > 
What  do  they  mean?     I  pray,  your  highness,  mark 

them. 

They  charge  me  with  dishonest  practices. 
Dishonest  practices !    If  there  be  law, 
I  will  have  vengeance  on  them. 

PALM. 

So  thou  shalt, 

To  the  extreme  of  justice — Good  Mendoza — 
Thou  art  the  calmest  here;  speak  what  thou  knowst 
Of  this  same  robbery.    Is  there  a  robbery? 
<Hath  any  man  been  spoiled  of  property  ?> 
Have  Febro's  chests  been  broken? 

MEN. 

Please,  your  highness, 
'Tis  even  too  true;  and  true  it  is  (I  say  it 
With  shame  and  sorrow,  and  with  much  amazement) 
There  are  particulars  of  damning  moment, 
That  show  connivance  where  one  would  not  think  it. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  675 

FEB. 

By  heaven!  'tis  false!    Who  is  there  could  connive 
Of  all  my  house  ?    Will  any  say  'twas  I  ? 
<Ay,  they  do  say  it;  they  do  charge  it  on  me!> 
Pray,  good  your  excellency,  search  this  well; 
<Pray  you,  be  quick,  and  let  me  know  it  all. 
There  is  some  plot  against  me;  I  am  robbed. 
Well,  is  not  that  enough?    I  am  then  ruined — 
If  robbed,  why  ruined;  for,  of  all  still  left, 
There's  not  enough  to  cover  o'er  that  loss. 
That  will  bring  many  into  need.    Search  well;> 
Find  me  the  rogues,  and  give  me  back  my  gold; 
I  can  with  that  pay  all,  and  more  than  all. 

PALM. 

Febro,  I  pity  thee. — this  looks  not  well — 

Say'st  thou,  connivance ?    <  In  some  hour  of  madness, 

Spirits  of  virtue  have  themselves  forgot, 

And,  in  one  deed,  turned  villains.  >    Speak,  Mendoza, 

Utter  the  charge,  if  charge  thou  hast  to  make; 

<Tell  me  thy  tale,  if  any  wrong  thou  know'st;> 

And,  in  my  quality  of  arbiter, 

I  will  forget  who  is  the  man  accused, 

And  judge  him  as  a  stranger. 

FEB. 

Let  him  speak; 

I  do  defy  him;  let  him  speak;  let  all. 
All  men,  my  foemen  and  my  friends  alike, 
I  do  defy  to  speak  a  wrong  of  me ! 

<MEN. 

Until  today,  I  dreamed  no  wrong  of  Febro; 
Nor,  please  your  highness,  could  I  dream  it  now, 
But  that  I  think  he  has  not  his  proper  mind. 


676    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

Why  that  may  be;  you  keep  me  still  bewildered, 
Knowing  myself  all  ruined,  but  not  how; 
Traduced,  maligned,  but  wherefore  ignorant. 
Despatch,  Mendoza,  for  I  have  no  fear. 
You  will  be  sorry  to  have  thought  this  wrong. 
Not  in  my  mind !    In  sooth,  you  do  distract  me.  > 

MEN. 

Please,  your  excellency. 
Pablo,  the  innkeeper,  here  throws  himself 
On  the  king's  mercy;  and,  himself  avowing 
Accomplice  in  the  act,  Baptist  a  charges 
To  have  been  his  leader. 

FRAN. 

Oh,  your  noble  highness, 
This  is  an  open  villainy.    That  Pablo 
Is  a  notorious  rogue,  <a  thief  and  liar,  > 
Not  to  be  hearkened  to  by  honest  men. 

PALM. 

Silence,  Francisco;  be  not  overrash; 
Thy  father  shall  have  justice. 

MEN. 

Noble  sir, 

What  the  youth  says  of  Pablo  is  most  true; 
No  honest  man  should  hearken  to  his  speech ; 
Yet  Febro  spoke  with  him,  and  I  myself 
Witnessed  the  conference. 


I  spoke  with  him. 


FEB. 

Why,  so  I  did; 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  677 

PALM. 

Peace,  Febro,  Heaven 

be  with  thee ! 

<  This  is  a  cloud  that  gathers  to  a  storm !  > 
He  spoke  with  Pablo  ? 

MEN. 

Yes,  and  gave  him  money. 
His  man  Silvano  there  stood  at  my  side, 
And  watched  him  with  me.    <  At  my  words  of  wonder, 
(For  truth  'twas  wonderful  to  see  the  broker 
In  earnest  speech  with  such  a  man  as  Pablo) 
Silvano  >  [and]  told  me  how,  short  time  before 
Febro  demanded,  if  he  might  not  steal 
To  Pablo  unobserved;  and  did  assure  me 
He  feared  his  master  was  not  in  his  mind; 
Wherefore,  in  proof,  he  told  me  how,  before, 
Febro  had  talked  with  senor  Cabarero 
Inviting  him  to  robbery  and  flight, 
And  such  wild  things  as  surely  proved  him  mad. 

CAB. 

Put  me  on  oath,  and  let  me  swear  this  true. 

FEB. 

Why  this  is  true. 

FRAN. 

O,  father!  father! 

PALM. 

Febro! 

FEB. 

I  say  'tis  true ;  where  is  the  need  to  swear  it  ? 


678    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PALM. 

Febro,  be  wise; — I  pity  thee. 

FEB. 

I  never 

Thought  to  conceal  it.    Without  fear,  I  own  it ; 
I  talked  with  Cabarero,  and  did  urge  him 
To  rob  me. — 

CAB. 
He  confesses! 

FRAN. 

Pray  you,  stop  him: 
He  knows  not  what  he  says —  O,  father! 

FEB. 

Boy, 

Did  I  e'er  teach  thee  then  to  lie? — I  own  it 
I  bade  him  rob  me,  <at  the  evil  urgings 
Of  my  bad  fancy ;  >  for  I  hoped  that  act 
Might  bring  him  to  the  scaffold;  and  I  thought, 
If  he  were  dead,  Ramon,  my  outcast  Ramon, 
Might  be  mine  own  again. 

CAB. 

Now  by  my  faith, 

That  Ramon,  whom  he  seems  to  love  so  well, 
He  kept  in  want  and  misery,  and  knew  it. 
For  Ramon  I  besought  him,  he  denied  me. 
He  owns  the  urging — ay,  he  urged  me  sore. 
I  will  not  say  with  what  rich  tempting  offers. 
In  sooth,  I  thought  him  mad;  for  wherefore  should  he, 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  679 

In  his  old  age,  invent  so  wild  a  fraud? 

Tis  true,  he  had  had  losses — and  perhaps 

These  same  had  turned  his  brains ;  wherefore  I  hope 

Your  excellency  will  be  merciful. 

Sure  he  was  mad ;  though  subtle  and  discreet 

In  the  vile  plan  he  showed  me. 

FEB. 

O,  thou  villain! 

I  am  sorry  I  did  spare  thee.    For  a  little 
I  could  have  bought  thy  life. — Your  highness 

hears  him ! 

CAB. 

Your  highness  hears  him !    Pablo  will  confess 
He  would  have  bought  him  to  assassinate  me. 
It  was  not  safe  for  him  to  have  me  live; 
But  nevertheless  I  bring  not  that  against  him. 

FEB. 

It  is  not  true;  and  Pablo  knows  I  told  him, 
We  would  this  bad  man  leave  to  heaven. 

PALM. 

Still  Pablo! 

And  wilt  thou  still,  unhappy,  Febro,  darken 
Thy  hope  by  such  admissions?    What,  indeed! 
Hold  speech  with  Pablo?  and  on  such  black  subjects? 
Talk  with  a  wretch  about  another's  murder? 

FEB. 

I  talked  with  Pablo ;  will  your  highness  blame  me  ? 

It  was  of  Ramon,  and  his  miseries; 

I  gave  him  money  too — it  was  for  Ramon ! 

I  sought  his  house,  but  it  was  still  for  Ramon! 


68o   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CAB. 

And  Ramon  should  have  been  his  accessory ! 

(Apart  to  Ramon.)     Peace,  <on  thy  life! >     There  is 

good  proof  of  this; 
Will  not  your  excellency  list  to  Pablo? 
The  bark  was  ready  on  the  river;  seek  it; 
It  waits  for  Febro — Pablo  can  speak  all. 

PALM. 

He  shall  be  heard.    Speak  thou  again,  Mendoza. 

I  am  amazed  and  shocked.    What  know'st  thou  more, 

To  make  this  madness  yet  more  probable? 

MEN. 

My  terrace  roof  o'erlooks  Baptista's  garden. 

I  sat  above,  to  breathe  the  vesper  air; 

And  twice  or  thrice,  I  marked  a  glimmering  lamp 

Among  the  shrubs,  and,  in  the  end,  a  light 

Flashing  as  from  an  open  door,  where  was 

No  door,  save  one  ne'er  opened.     <This  thing  moved 

me; 

And  giving  all  my  faculties  to  watch, 
Forthwith  I  heard  low  murmurs  as  of  voices, 
And,  once  or  twice,  the  crashing  of  men's  feet 
Along  the  pebbled  alleys.  >     Straight  I  ran 
To  give  the  alarm.    Febro  was  in  the  vault, 
And  all  the  evening  had  been ;  so  I  learned 
From  his  affrighted  daughter,  who  was  sure 
(And  so  Silvano)  he  had  not  passed  out. 
Judge  my  surprise  to  find  the  door  well  locked, 
And  Febro  vanished!  how,  but  through  the  door 
That  opened  on  the  garden?  and  with  what, 
Save  the  rich  treasures  which  were  there  no  more  ? 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  68 1 

FRAN. 

Alas,  the  key  that  oped  that  garden  door, 
Was  lost  a  month  ago ;  and  my  poor  father 
Tomorrow  would  have  walled  it  up. 

PALM. 

Tomorrow? 

For  a  whole  month  he  left  his  vaults  exposed  ? 

This — Leave  the  substance  of  confiding  men 

To  a  month's  accidents  and  knaveries! — 

This  looks  but  darkly.    Speak ;  what  more,  Mendoza  ? 

MEN. 

Some  wild  words  dropped  from  mine  own  daughter's 

lips: 

She  had  abruptly  visited  the  house, 
And  stumbled  on  a  man  close  muffled  up, 
Who  brushed  by  her,  and  fled;  and,  in  addition, 
Found  Leonor  confounded  and  perturbed, 
Her  mantle  in  her  hand,  and  at  her  side 
A  bundle,  seemingly  prepared  for  flight. — 

FEB. 

My  daughter !    If  thou  beest  a  man  and  father, 
Discharge  me  straight,  and  let  me  save  my  child. 
That  slave  Rolando!    O,  I  see  it  now; 
He  is  the  rogue!  'tis  he  has  broke  my  vaults, 
And  steals  my  girl  away ! — Let  me  begone. 
My  Leonor! — I'll  give  you  up  my  life, 
If  you  seek  that;  but  let  me  save  my  child ! 

PALM. 

Stay.    My  heart  bleeds  for  thee.    I  cannot  free  thee. 
This  charge  is  heavy,  and  most  like  to  truth. 


682    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

You  have  no  heart ! — Francisco,  you  are  free ; 
You  have  not  robbed,  nobody  calls  you  rogue — 
Get  thee  to  home,  and  to  thy  sister. 

FRAN. 

Father! 

FEB. 

Save  me  thy  sister,  or  I'  11  live  to  curse  thee — 

(Exit  FRANCISCO.) 

I  thought  your  excellency  was  a  man ! 
You  gave  me  friendship  too. 

PALM. 

I  did,  Baptist  a, 
And  will — disprove  this  fearful  charge. 

FEB. 

My  child! 

You  keep  me  here,  to  set  me  mad  with  charges 
That  make  me  seem  a  rogue;  and  all  the  while 
Dishonor  seeks  my  child — A  step  might  save  her! 

MEN. 

Let  him  be  satisfied ;  his  girl  is  safe ; 
I  left  Juana  with  her. 

FEB. 

Heaven  reward  thee ! 

I  will  forgive  thee  all  thou  hast  said  against  me. 
She  has  not  fled!    How  could  I  think  she  would? 
Fly  from  me  in  my  wretchedness !  and  with 
The  man  that  robbed  me! 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  683 

CAB. 

Is  not  this  well  carried? — 

(Apart  to  RAMON.) 
Hold  up  thy  head — Thou  seest  how  fortune  helps  us. 

PALM. 

Hast  thou  still  more,  Mendoza? 

MEN. 

Silvano  here 
Picked  up  the  cloak  of  Pablo. 


I  lost  it  in  the  garden. 


PAB. 

I  am  guilty, 


MEN. 

But  little  more 

Have  I  to  say,  but,  haply,  that  most  fatal. 
With  officers,  we  followed  to  the  inn; 
And  there,  in  the  hands  of  Cabarero,  stood 
Unhappy  Febro. 

FEB. 

Ay,  most  miserable! 

< Ramon,  why  didst  thou  say  those  things  to  me? 
I  think  they  have  turned  my  brain ! 

MEN. 

Wretched  Baptista;> 

With  still,  even  in  his  frightened  grasp,  a  bag 
Of  the  same  coin  that  had  that  moment  vanished. 


684   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

I  took  it  there — Why  look  ye  thus  upon  me? 
I  bore  it  with  me  to  redeem  my  son. 

CAB. 

Ay,  sooth,  with  three  bags  more! 

(Apart  to  RAMON.) 

Think  of  Juana ! 

<  This  thing  is  for  a  time.  >    Sefior  Mendoza 
Will  say  he  found  them:  faith,  'twas  Pablo  brought 

them. 
I  can  attest  how  this  was  all  discovered. 

PALM. 

Mendoza,  is  this  true? 


Here  is  the  gold. 


MEN. 
Indeed  most  true; 

PALM. 

What  fiend  possessed  thee,  Febro? 

FEB. 

Well,  do  you  judge  it  true  ?    How  got  it  there  ? 
I  do  not  know;  I  took  but  one  bag  with  me, 
To  save  my  boy. 

PALM. 

Whom  didst  thou  counsel  with? 
Alas,  all  weighs  against  thee.    Hadst  thou  spoke 
But  to  thy  daughter,  or  thy  man,  of  this. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  685 

FEB. 

I  spoke  with  none :  and  wherefore  should  I  speak  ? 
Will  Pablo  charge  me?    Pablo  did  deceive  me; 
He  told  me  lies  of  Ramon. 

CAB. 

There  again ! 

He  told  some  truths — he  told  where  they  had  hid 
Their  ruffian  spoils. 

FEB. 

He  did!  and  are  they  found? 
All  will  be  well  again!    Confess  all,  Pablo, 
Where  didst  thou  hide  the  gold? 

PALM. 

<Now,  but  that  I 

Here  see  the  wanderings  of  a  dotish  man, 
I  should  pronounce  this  folly  innocence. 
Febro,  attend :  thy  star  is  darkening  fast ; 
And  the  old  trunk,  whose  wealthy  branches  hid 
The  secret  rot  that  hollowed  at  its  heart, 
Is  trembling  in  the  tempest :  lo,  the  bolt 
Comes  to  the  earth,  and  hisses  at  thy  front 
A  moment,  ere  it  fells  thee.  >    Speak  no  more, 
If  not  more  wisely — Thou,  Mendoza,  art, 
In  all  thou  hast  said,  confirmed  ? 

MEN. 

I  am. 

PALM. 

And  thou,  Antonio,  on  thy  hopes  of  heaven, 
Speak'st  but  the  truth? 


686    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

CAB. 

I  do. 
< (A part  to  RAMON.) 

Shudder  no  more. —  > 
And  Pablo  will  swear  all  as  I  have  said. 
If  they  do  find  the  gold  he  swore  they  buried, 
'Twill  show  his  truth. 

MEN. 

They  have  already  found  it; 
Yet  a  small  part  alone — some  thousand  ducats. 

PALM. 

Thou  swear'st  this,  Pablo? 


I  hope  for  mercy ! 


PAB. 

Yes,  your  highness,  yes : 


PALM. 

Tell  mine  officers 
Where  lie  the  greater  profits  of  thy  crime. 

PAB. 

I  know  no  more;  I  left  the  bags  with  Febro, 
And  him  i'  the  garden,  that  I  might  straight  bury 
Mine  own  share  in  the  place  whereof  I  told  them. 
As  for  the  rest,  good  faith,  I  know  no  more; 
Febro  had  charge  of  that. 

FEB. 

Now,  were  heaven  just, 
Thou  shouldst  die  with  this  slander  in  thy  throat, 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  687 

Monster  of  falsehood !    Has  it  come  to  this? 

Is't  true?  is't  possible?  a  man  like  me, 

Old, — in  the  twilight  of  my  years,  and  looking 

Into  the  dusky  midnight  of  my  grave, — 

An  old  man  that  has  lived  a  life,  whereon 

No  man  hath  found  a  stain  <Oh!  you  are  mad, 

To  think  this  thing  of  me.  >    A  fraud?  a  fraud! 

What !  /  commit  it  ?  with  these  gray  hairs  too  ? 

And  without  aim, — save  to  enrich  this  rogue, 

That  swears  away  my  life? 

PALM. 

Aimless,  indeed, 

Unnatural,  and  most  incredible; 
And  therefore  easily  disproved,  hadst  thou 
One  proof  beyond  its  wonder.     <Give  me  proof; 
Discredit  not  this  knave,  I  know  him  well ; 
But  show  thou  wert  not  with  him, — or  for  what; 
And  hadst  no  gold  with  thee — or  wherefore  hadst  it ; 
Or  do  what  will  be  better  for  thy  soul, — 
Rouse  from  this  dotish  fit  that  has  transformed  thee,  > 
Repent,  confess,  deliver  up  the  spoils 
<Of  thy  unhallowed  avarice;  and,  in  memory 
Of  thy  once  stainless  fame  (no  more  unsullied)  > 
And  in  regard  of  years  that  should  be  reverend, 
In  pity  and  in  peace,  we  will  discharge  thee. 

FEB. 

I  do  repent  me — of  my  miseries; 
I  do  confess — that  I  am  wronged  and  lost, 
Robbed,  and  traduced,  and  by  collusion  slain, 
Trapped  by  false  witnesses,  and  by  an  unjust  judge 
Unrighteously  condemned. 


688    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PALM. 

Say 'st  thou,  Baptista! 

"  A  n  unjust  judge  ?  "  "  unrighteously  condemned  ? ' ' 
What  say  the  witnesses?  thy  friend,  Mendoza? 
Will  he  traduce  thee  ?    What  Antonio  here  ? 
Does  he  gain  aught  to  harm  thee  ?     What  this  Pablo  ? 
Who  prates  his  own  life  into  jeopardy? 
And  what — By  heaven,   I  would  have  spared    thee 

that!— 
What  says  thy  son? 

FEB. 

My  son !  my  Ramon !    Ay,  let  Ramon  speak, — 
Hah !  what !  does  Ramon  charge  me  ? 

PALM. 

Hear'st  thou,  Ramon? 

CAB. 

<  (Apart  to  RAMON.) 
Wilt  thou  be  ruined  ?  > 

FEB. 

Ramon  ? 

PALM. 

Dost  thou  see ! 

Horror  hath  made  him  dumb.    Had  he  a  word 
To  aid  thy  misery,  he  had  spoken  it. 

FEB. 

Dost  thou  accuse  me,  boy  ?    I  do  defy  thee ! 
What !  swear  against  thy  father  ?    Ope  thy  lips ; 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  689 

< Speak    what    thou    canst.      Oh,  now  I  have  been 

mad!— > 

Thou  know'st  full  well  for  what  I  sought  thee  out. 
Why  art  thou  silent?    <Lo,  a  word  of  thine 
Would  clear  up  all ;  speak  thou  that  word.   Accuse  me  ? 
My  son  accuse  me?>    By  the  curse,  not  yet 
Uttered  nor  thought  of — by  the  father's  curse, 
That  will  convert  thy  bosom  to  a  hell, 
Ne'er  to  be  quenched  by  penitence  and  prayers, 
Speak,  and  speak  truly. 

PALM. 

Stand  aside. 

FEB. 

Ha,  ha! 
One  word  clears  all ;  and  he  will  speak  it.    Hark ! 

(RAMON,  endeavoring  to  speak,  falls  into  a  swoon.) 
My  son!  my  son!  oh,  you  have  killed  my  Ramon! 

PALM. 

Tis  thou  hast  done  it.      <  What !  though  thou  wert  so 

cruel , 

Though  thou  hadst  driven  him  from  thy  roof  and  love, 
He  could  not  speak  the  word  that  should  destroy 

thee.> 

Bear  him  away;  his  silence  speaks  enough, 
I  will  not  force  him  to  unlock  his  lips, 
In  the  unnatural  charge. 

(RAMON  is  led  out.) 

Art  thou  content  ? 

All  speaks  thy  guilt.    Confess ;  repair  thy  fault ; 
Disgorge  thy  spoils. 

44 


690   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

Do  with  me  what  you  will, 
You  have  robbed  and  ruined  me  among  you  all, 

<  What  care  I  now  how  soon  you  take  my  life  ?  > 
You  make  me  out  a  felon,  and  have  turned, — 
Heaven  plague   you   all — have  turned  my  children 

'gainst  me. 

PALM. 

Obstinate  still?    Confess,  and  take  our  mercy. 

FEB. 

The  mercy  of  oppressors !    Heaven  confound  you ! 
I  know  why  you  condemn  me,  ay,  full  well: 

<  I  could  have  paid  you  all — I  have  claims  yet ;  > 
You  kill  me  for  your  losses. — When  you  will: 

The  grave  is  quiet,  and  Heaven  will  yet  avenge  me. 

PALM. 

Amazed  and  sorrowing,  we  pronounce  thee  guilty 

Of  a  most  mad,  most  base,  and  wicked  fraud, 

For  which  our  laws  of  Spain  demand  thy  life. 

Yet,  in  respect  of  thy  augmented  years, 

We  spare  thee  that.    Depart;  live  and  repent  thee. 

What  property  still  openly  is  thine 

We  seize  for  benefit  of  the  many  wronged. 

We  give  thee  life,  but  judge  thee  ignominious. 

And  to  remain  in  ward  of  officers, 

In  thine  own  house,  till  all  be  satisfied. 

FEB. 

Why  you  were  better  take  my  life  at  once ; 
<You  leave  me  naught  to  feed  me!  and>  the  air 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  691 

You  grant  me  leave  to  breathe,  is  but  the  poison 
Of  a  corrupted  reputation.    Kill  me; 
What  matters  it?    Your  mercy  is  a  name 
For  a  new  rack,  wherewith  you  will  torment  me — 
The  rack  of  shame  and  pitiless  degradation. 
A  rogue ! — a  felon ! — 

(FEBRO  is  led  out.} 

PALM. 

<Poor  wretch!     I'll  think  of  thee- 
I  have  a  dream — and  though  all  seem  to  speak  thee 
Dotard  and  knave,  it  shows  me  other  things 
But  hide  them  yet. 

CAB. 

May  it  please  your  excellency, 

Permit  me  to  depart,  and  look  to  Ramon, 

A  very  unhappy  man. 

PALM. 

Away! 

(Exit  CABARERO.) 

PALM. 

Thou,  Pablo, 

We  do  adjudge  to  prison,  to  resolve 
More  fitly  of  thy  fate. 

PAB. 

I  claim  the  royal  pardon. 

PALM. 

I'll  find  if  thou  hast  won  it. 

(PABLO  is  led  out.) 


692    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

Look  to  it,  officers:  this  man,  Antonio, 

Watch  strictly;  have  him  ever  in  your  eyes; 

Give  him  no  passage  from  the  gates.    For  Pablo, 

Fright  him  with  words  of  death,  and  find  what  secrets 

May  drop  from  terror.    Watch  me  Ramon  too. 

I  have  strange  fancies, — but  these  hints  will  serve  you. 

Mendoza,  have  thine  eye  upon  Baptista; 

What  misery  may  come  to  him  thou  know'st; 

Let  him  not  want,  nor  let  his  children  suffer. 

What  cost  soever  thou  art  at  to  help  them, 

I  will  requite  thee;  look  to  them  tonight; 

Tomorrow  come  to  me  again;  I  have 

A  thought  to  hold  discourse  on — but  not  now.  > 

(Exeunt.) 

<  SCENE  II.     The  street  before  the  Palace.    (Enter 
CABARERO  and  RAMON.) 

RAM. 

The  Viceroy  has  given  him  his  life?  Well,  I  am  glad 
of  that. — Else  should  I  have  confessed  all.  His 
freedom  too! 

CAB. 

Ay,  I  tell  thee, — his  life  and  freedom, — all  which  is 
contrary  to  law. — Such  a  fraud  is  a  matter  for 
hanging. 

RAM. 

And  thou  thought 'st,  when  thou  persuadest  me  to 
witness  against  him,  that  he  should  die! 

CAB. 

By  my  faith,  no: — I  knew  his  life  was  in  no  danger. 
I  told  thee  the  Viceroy  was  too  much  his  friend. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  693 

RAM. 

He  will  come  to  want,  Antonio!  We  will  send  him 
money. 

CAB. 

'Slife,  this  is  superfluous — and  full  of  risk. 

RAM. 

I  tell  thee,  he  shall  have  money  and  relief,  though  it 
bring  me  to  the  gallows. 

CAB. 

Wilt  thou  be  wise? 

RAM. 

He  was  coming  to  me  with  pardon!  With  money  to 
relieve  me!  and  with  that  money  did  I  witness 
him  to  destruction. 

CAB. 

Foh!  thou  said'st  not  a  word. 

RAM. 

Hah!  that's  true:  no  man  can  accuse  me — I  said  no 
thing  against  him. — But  my  silence — my  silence 
damned  him,  and  it  damns  me.  There  is  no 
fiend  like  to  me.  Witness  against  my  father! 
Kill  my  father! — Cain  killed  his  brother,  and 
his  forehead  was  marked  with  the  finger  of  God. 
— I — I — What  is  justice?  /  have  no  mark,  who 
have  killed  my  father ! 

CAB. 
Faith,  not  a  jot — there  is  no  mark  about  thee. — 


694   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

RAM. 

Thou  liest, — it  is  here, — my  soul  is  sealed  with  horror 
—black,  black, — the  leprosy  of  an  Ethiop — the 
gangrene  of  a  demon — all  darkness — darkness — of 
horror. 

CAB. 

Why,  thou  madman,  wilt  thou  betray  thyself?  Think 
of  Juana. 

RAM. 

Have  I  not  bought  her,  even  with  my  soul's  perdition? 
How  shall  I  look  her  in  the  face  ? 

CAB. 

Hark'ee !  I  am  tired  of  thy  whining.  If  thou  wilt  be  a 
man,  I  am  thy  friend  still ; — if  thou  wilt  endanger 
thyself,  and  me  too,  by  thy  puling,  boyish  fright, 
I  [will  leave  thee  to  manage  thine  own  affairs. 
By  my  faith,  I  will. 

RAM. 

Desert  me  not,  or  I  have  lost  Juana. — Give  me  thy 
advice ;  I  will  follow  thy  bidding. 

CAB. 

Let  us  depart. — Thy  father  is  coming. — They  are 
turning  him  from  the  palace. 

RAM. 

Horror! — I  cannot  look  on  him.    Away!  away! — 

(Exeunt.)  > 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  695 

SCENE  III.    A  room  in  FEBRO'S  house.     (Enter 
FRANCISCO  and  LEONOR.) 

FRAN. 

Ask  me  not  a  word,  not  now, — not  now, — I  will  tell 
thee  anon. — Our  father  is  alive,  I  tell  thee, — 
alive  and  well: — Is  not  that  enough?  It  will 
break  her  heart, — Is  not  that  enough?  At  the 
palace,  I  tell  thee,  sister. 

LEON. 

I  am  glad  of  that. — He  is  safe  with  the  Viceroy.  And 
the  robbers,  Francisco  ? 

FRAN. 

Yes,  yes! — heaven  will  discover  them. — The  robbers! 
the  robbers!  Sister,  you  have  done  wrong  to 
entertain  a  lover  in  secret.  My  father  accuses 
him  of  the  robbery. 

LEON. 

Him!  brother!  Rolando!  what,  Rolando!  Oh,  he  was 
with  me.  He  is  a  gentleman.  My  father  does 
him  a  great  wrong. — 

FRAN. 

It  may  be  so.  Heaven  protect  thee. — Receive  him  no 
more.  Tarry  here;  I  will  to  the  vault  a  moment, 
—I  will  be  near  thee. 

(Exit  FRANCISCO.) 
(Enter  FERNANDO.) 

LEON. 

Oh,  Rolando,  Rolando,  my  brother,  my  father — 


696    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FERN. 

Peace,  Leonor,  I  overheard  thy  brother. — Dost  thou 
think  me  a  robber? 

LEON. 

What,  thou?  You  must  forgive  my  poor  father. — 
This  robbery  has  perplexed  him  sorely.  But 
what  disturbs  thee  ?  Thou  art  very  pale,  Rolando ! 

FERN. 

Listen :  this  moment  is  the  last  I  can  look  upon  thee — 

LEON. 

Rolando ! 

FERN. 

If  thou  wilt  fly  with  me,  I  will  give  up  my  father — 
my  hopes — my  station — everything,  for  thee; 
if  thou  wilt  not,  I  can  never  look  upon  thee  more. 

LEON. 

You  are  jesting  with  me,  Rolando!  Oh,  I  can  never 
leave  my  father. 

FERN. 

Heaven  bless  thee,  Farewell. 

LEON. 

Rolando ! 

FERN. 

We  must  forget  one  another — I  could  tell  thee  a  reason 
— but  thou  wilt  hear  it  from  others. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  697 

LEON. 

O,  my  father!  my  father! 

FERN. 

I  will  love  thee  better,  and  forever — Thou  shalt  be 
happier  too.    Thou  fliest  from  misery. 

(Exeunt.) 
(Re-enter  FRANCISCO,  with  a  Rosary.) 

FRAN. 

This  is  enough  to  sear  mine  eyes  forever, 
And  turn  my  heart  to  ashes. — Wretched  brother! 
Thrice  wretched  father!    Leonor,  ho!  Leonor! 
Sister!    Sister!    Gone!  oh,  vanished! — Heaven, 
Thou  art  awroth  with  us!    What,  sister!  sister! 

(Exit.)> 

SCENE  IV.     The  street  before  MENDOZA'S   house. 
(Enter  JUANA  and  RAMON.) 

JUAN. 

Prosperity, — wealth, — happiness! — They   come   too 

late. 

Oh,  Ramon,  Ramon!  talk'st  thou  thus  to  me? 
Witness  against  thy  father!  say  no  more 
Of  happy  fortune;  but  disprove  this  tale, 
That  racks  my  heart  with  horror. — Happy  indeed ! 
Thou  art  awroth  with  us!    What,  disprove  it: 
Witness  against  thy  father!    Didst  thou,  Ramon! 
Say  no,  and  make  me  happy. 

RAM. 

They  deceived  thee — 
I  spake  no  word  against  him, — not  a  word, 
No  man  can  charge  me  that. 


698    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

JUAN. 

No,  not  a  word ! — 
They  charge  not  that.     But  thou  wert  there  against 

him! 
Thy  presence  was  enough ! 

RAM. 

Reproach  no  more: 
I  chose  not  to  be  with  his  enemies — 
They  dragged  me  with  them.    Speak  of  this  no  more. 

JUAN. 

Of  this  forever,  till  thou  clear  up  all ! 

Ramon,  thou  know'st  me  not. — Be  thou  the  man 

My  heart  has  pictured  thee,  oppressed  but  worthy, 

Sore  tempted,  but  with  yet  a  noble  spirit, 

That  thrones  its  nakedness  on  a  rock  of  honor; 

And  poor  and  wretched  though  thou  be,  deserted, 

Contemned  and  hated — nay,  by  all  men  cursed — 

Still  do  I  rest  thy  friend  and  advocate — 

Thy  more  than  friend,  thy  loving  wife  forever ! 

RAM. 

I  am  what  thou  behold'st — thy  long  betrothed, 
Once  faith-preserved,  and  ever  faithful  Ramon — 
One  and  the  same. 

JUAN. 

Ah,  no,  no  more  the  same — 
Thy  father,  Ramon!— 

RAM. 

Who,  for  thy  love,  have  borne 
Sorrow  and  wrath,  and  dreamed  they  were  not  ills, 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  699 

Locked  hands  with  shame,  and  deemed  me  undefiled, 
Councilled  with  villainy,  and  thought  it  virtue, 
Because  it  pointed  out  a  path  to  thee. 

JUAN. 

A  word 

And  I  have  done  with  thee. — Then  for  what  fate 
Heaven  has  in  store,  the  altar  or  the  grave — 
I  shall  not  care. — This  do  they  charge  thee,  Ramon — 
Thy  father  was  accused  by  noted  knaves — 
His  son — no,  no — his  son  did  not  accuse  him; 
But  when  adjured — (thou  tremblest !)      When  adjured 
By  the  poor  father,  yea,  besought,  to  speak 
Against  the  charge  which  he  did  know  was  false, 
Condemned  his  father  with  accusing  looks — 
With  a  dumb  lip  assented,  and  with  that  silence 
Sealed  him  to  shame  and  death ! 


I  did  all  this  for  thee. 


RAM. 

What  could  I  more  ? 


JUAN. 

For  me!  for  me! 

Thou  might 'st  have  stabbed  thy  brother  in  the  dark, 
Bartered  thy  sister  for  a  villain's  gold, 
Done  anything  unnatural  and  base, 
And  told  me,  'twas  for  me !  for  me !  for  me ! 

RAM. 

Thou  art  unjust. — In  this  is  grief  enough, 
Without  thy  keen  reproaches. — What  could  I  more? 
I  held  my  peace. — Wouldst  thou  have  had  me  charge 
him? 


700    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

JUAN. 

Didst  thou  then  know  him  guilty?    Speak  me  that. 

Upon  thy  soul's  eternal  welfare  speak, 

Speak  me  the  truth. — What,    dost    thou    know    him 

guilty  ? 
Know  him  a  felon  ? 

RAM. 

This  is  then  thy  fear : — 
Thou  scorn'st  the  felon's  son? 

JUAN. 

Hah!  if  I  do? 
What,  trap  him  to't? — Wo's  me! 

RAM. 

Juana,  time  will  show 
Who  is  the  guilty  wretch — 

JUAN. 

Oh,  Time  will  show! 
Give  it  not  up  to  time !    By  all  the  grief 
That  stains  thy  sire's  gray  hairs — by  all  the  pure 
And  solemn  magic  round  thy  mother's  grave, 
I  charge  thee  speak  the  truth. — Thou  dost  not  think 
Thy  father's  guilty? 

RAM. 

Nay,  Juana! 

JUAN. 

Speak, 

Or  never  speak  me  more. — Tremble  not — speak — 
Thou  dost  not  think  him  guilty? — 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  701 

RAM. 

No, — no, — 

JUAN. 

Wretch  !— 

Thy  lips  were  dumb,  and  thou  didst  know  him  inno 
cent! 

You  heard  him  slandered,  and  stood  silent  by ! 
You  saw  him  perish,  and  held  back  the  truth 
That  would  have  saved  him ! 

RAM. 

Is  it  come  to  this? 
Is  this  the  guerdon  to  reward  my  love? 

JUAN. 

Love!    Did  I  love  thee!     What,  this  spirit,  that,  in 

A  case  of  flesh,  was  all  of  adamant — 

A  disguised  devil !    Is  it  come  to  this  ? 

Thou  say'st  that  well. — For  now  I  know  thee  well, 

And  hate  thee — yes,  abhor  thee! 

RAM. 

Still  unjust, 
Thou  kill'st  me  for  my  faith. 

JUAN. 

Now  do  I  know 

They  spoke  the  truth,  who  called  thee  base  and  vile — 
This  fiendish  act  is  warranty  enough 
For  any  depth  of  lowness. — Oh,  how  fallen 
Thou  art  now,  Ramon!    A  year,  a  month  ago! — 


702    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

But  that  no  more. — I  could  have  died  for  thee, 
Hadst  thou  held  fast  to  thine  integrity — 
Now  though  it  break  my  heart,  I  cast  thee  from  me 
Forever,  forever — I'll  never  see  thee  more. 

RAM. 

Thou  mak'st  me  mad. — The  wrongs  that  I  have  done 

I  did  for  thee. — I  had  no  other  hope, 

No  other  way  to  win  thee.    Dost  thou  leave  me  ? — 

Then  I  am  lost, — and  nothing  left  with  me 

But  the  sharp  goadings  of  a  vain  repentance. 

False  hearted  maid !  'tis  thou  hast  led  me  on 

Into  this  gulf  of  crime :  What  but  a  hope 

To  win  thee,  could  have  made  me  what  I  am 

A  thief  and  parricide ! 

JUAN. 

Oh,  heaven,  that  opest 

Mine  eyes  upon  this  horror,  still  support  me — 
A  thief!  a  thief! 

RAM. 

I  said  not  that. 

JUAN. 

A  demon 

Blacker  than  all!    Confess  thy  crime  and  die. 
Confess,  for  all  shall  know  thee! — O,  away, 
And  perish  in  the  desert, — I  denounce  thee— 
What  ho,  my  father — ho! 

RAM. 

Juana ! 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  703 

JUAN. 

Father! 

Justice!  there  shall  be  justice  done  to  all, — 
Justice,  I  tell  thee,  monster,  though  I  die — 
Justice,  ho,  father! 

(Enter  MENDOZA — RAMON  flies.) 

MEN. 

What's  the  matter,  girl? 
That  wretched  Ramon ! — 

JUAN. 

To  the  palace,  father — 
Quick,  lead  me  to  the  Viceroy. 

MEN. 

Art  thou  raving  ? 

JUAN. 

Oh,  father,  I've  a  story  for  his  highness, 

Will  make  all  rave. — And  let  me  speak  it  now, 

While  I  have  strength. 

MEN. 

Come  in,  compose  thyself — 
<Thou  art  disturbed,  and  know'st  not  what  thou 

say'st, 

The  palace,  indeed — Thou  art  fitter  for  thy  couch — 
So  wan  and  ghastly. —  > 

JUAN. 

The  palace,  father,  the  palace! 
(He  leads  her  in.} 

END  OF  ACT  IV. 


ACTV 

SCENE  I.    A    room  in   FEBRO'S   house.     (Enter 
SILVANO  and  FEBRO.) 


FEB. 

A  rogue !  a  felon !  convicted  and  condemned ! 
No  wretch  upon  the  street  more  given  to  scorn — 
No  mine-slave  fretting  under  blows  and  lashes, 
Held  to  more  shame. — Robbed,  and  for  reparation 
Despoiled  of  all — even  of  my  children's  bread — 
And  a  good  honest  name  too. — Well,  indeed, 
Heaven  looks  upon  the  sparrow's  unfledged  brood, 
When  murderers  kill  the  dam — And  Ramon  too ! 
Well,  I've  two  children  yet; — < where  is  Francisco? 
And  Leonor?  my  children  ?>     It  is  true, 
Their  sire  brings  shame  upon  them — But  I  think 
They  will  not  turn  upon  me — Dost  thou  hear  me  ? 
Where  is  Francisco  ? 


The  house  is  empty. 


SIL. 
Oh,  alas,  dear  master, 


FEB. 

Ah! 
704 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  705 

SIL. 

The  doors  all  open — 
No  living  creatures  present  but  ourselves. 

FEB. 

<  My  children,  I  tell  thee ! 

SIL. 

Master !  > 

FEB. 

O,  blest  heaven, 

Strike  me  to  death,  for  I  am  desperate — 
My  children  leave  me : — Turn  my  heart  to  earth, 
Ere  I  do  curse  them ! 

SIL. 

I  think,  I  hope 
My  mistress  now  is  with  Mendoza's  daughter. 

FEB. 

Why,  so  she  is !    I  should  have  thought  of  that — 

I  dare  be  sworn  she  is — Francisco  too — 

Where  should  he  be,  but  with  his  sister? — Go — 

Fetch  them  to  me.    And  tell  them  not  to  fear 

I'll  weigh  upon  them  long — this  wrong  will  end 

Ere  many  days,  and  then  men  will  forget 

To  charge  them  with  the  shame  of  their  dead  father. 

SIL. 

Francisco,  sir! 

(Enter  FRANCISCO.) 

45 


706   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

My  daughter,  boy, — my  Leonor 
Where  did  you  leave  your  sister  ? 

FRAN. 

<O,  dear  father, 
You'll  curse  me  when  I  tell  you! 

FEB. 

Fled,  boy,  fled!— 
Ha!  ha!  eloped! — dishonoured! 

FRAN. 

Father,  dear  father 

FEB. 

Drugged  to  the  bottom! — No  gall  and  venom  now, 
But  I  must  drink  them !    With  a  villain  fled ! 
From  shame  to  deeper  shame — And  in  mine  hour 
Of  misery  too !    Oh,  curse  her !  curse  her ! 

FRAN. 

Father- 
Be  not  so  rash — she  may  be  yet  recovered — 

FEB. 
I  gave  her  to  thy  charge !  > 

FRAN. 

Oh,  dear  my  father, 

I  left  her  but  an  instant — but  an  instant 
Looked  through  the  vault — and  in  that  instant  she 
Was  stolen  away — Father,  I  followed  her — 
Saw  her,  at  distance,  with  the  ravisher — 
He  bore  her  to  the  palace. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  707 

FEB. 

To  the  palace ! 

A  ruffian  of  the  guard — a  Spanish  ruffian 
Shall  steal  my  child,  and  have  the  Court's  protection — 
I'll  have  her  back  though  the  proud  viceroy's  self 
Should  bar  against  me  with  his  villains  all — 

FRAN. 

Father,  I  followed  to  the  door — the  guards 
Denied  me  entrance,  though  I  prayed  it  of  them — 
Struck  me  back  with  their  staves,  and  with  rude  voices 
Taunted  and  menaced  me . 

FEB. 

Why  back  again! 

Thou  wert  the  felon's  son — that  was  the  reason 
They  jeered  thee  with  thine  infamy — Thou  seest ! 
'Tis  infamy  to  bear  the  name  of  Febro. 
Struck  thee  back  with  their  staves!  because    thou 

sought'st 

To  save  thy  sister!    They  shall  strike  me  too — 
The  blows  that  bruise  the  body  are  not  much, 
When  that  the  heart  is  crushed — Come  thou  with  me — 
A  felon  though  I  be,  I  will  have  entrance — 
Though  infamous  and  lost,  I  will  have  justice. 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  II.     A  room  in  the  Palace.     (PALMERA  and 
others  discovered.) 

PALM. 

Frighted  with  death,  and  will  not  make  confession? 
I  know  not  why — all  circumstances  bring 


708    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

New  confirmation  of  the  broker's  guilt, 
And  yet,  within  my  breast,  some  gentle  spirit 
Whispers  me  doubt,  and  plays  the  advocate. 
That  Pablo  leave  not  yet — Hark  to  me,  officer; 
Carry  him  to  the  rack,  but  harm  him  not — 
<  Place  him  before  the  engine,  let  his  fancy 
Work  on  its  terrors,  till  it  paints  his  joints 
Crackling  and  sundering,  his  sinews  bursting, 
His  strong  bones  crashing  in  the  ordeal — 
Nay,  for  an  instant  bind  him  to  the  wheel,  > 
Make  him  believe  that  ye  will  torture  him, — 
(Yet  torture  not,  ye  shall  not  harm  a  hair — ) 
Thus  far  put  on  the  executioner, 
<And,  in  his  terror,  if  no  words  of  guilt 
Burst  from  his  lips,  my  conscience  doubts  no  more, 
And  the  poor  mad  old  man  is  lost  forever.  > 

(Exit  OFFICER.) 

FEBRO.  (Within.) 

I  will  have  entrance!    Villains,  stand  aside! 
I'll  see  the  Viceroy,  and  I'll  have  my  daughter! 

PALM. 

What  now!  the  broker!    At  this  midnight  hour, 
Madding  before  the  palace ! 

(Re-enter  OFFICER.) 

OFF. 

Please,  your  excellency, 

Febro  is  struggling  with  the  guards  for  entrance, 
He  will  not  be  driven  back, — he  calls  your  highness, 
And  raves  about  his  daughter. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  709 

PALM. 

He  is  distracted: — 
Let  him  come  in — Poor  wretch,  I  pity  him. 

(Enter  FEBRO,  FRANCISCO,  and  SILVANO.) 

<What  now,  old  man?     What  is  the  matter  with 
thee?> 

FEB. 

You  bar  your  doors  against  me,  and  you  put 

Armed  rogues  therein  to  thrust  me  back  with  staves, 

And  keep  my  daughter  from  me. 

PALM. 

What  would  you,  Febro? 
My  doors  are  shut  against  the  ignominious. 

FEB. 

Ay,  ignominious!    But  I'll  have  my  child — 
<I'll  have  my  daughter;  fetch  her  to  me  straight,  > 
Were  you  a  crowned  king,  I'll  have  her! 

PALM. 

Now 

What  fiend  hath  seized  thee,  Febro?    If  thy  child 
Have  fled  from  thee,  heaven  pity  thy  gray  hairs, 
Why  shouldst  thou  seek  her  here? 

FEB. 

Why,  she  is  here! 

Your  rogue  has  stolen  her;  you  know  that  well — 
And  you  protect  him.     <Oh,  heaven  visit  you 
With  pangs  and  misery.  >     Give  me  back  my  child — 
Give  me  my  daughter,  and  I  will  forgive  you 
The  other  mischiefs  you  have  done  me. 


710   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PALM. 

Alas, 

Tis  madness  fills  thee  with  this  fantasy: 
<How  should  thy  child  be  here! 

FEB. 

Will  you  not  yield  her?> 
I  do  beseech  you,  give  me  back  my  child — 
My  loving  Leonor!    Oh,  now,  for  pity, 

(He  kneels,) 

Be  just  to  me.    Look  on  me,  noble  sir, 
You  have  broke  my  heart,  but  give  me  back  my 
daughter. 

PALM. 

Rise  up,  thou  old  and  miserable  man, 
I  pity  thee,  but  know  not  of  thy  child. 

FEB.   (Arising.) 

I  do  demand  her;  keep  her,  if  you  dare! 
What  if  I  be  a  miserable  man, 
A  gray,  old,  broken,  miserable  man, 
A  most  dishonest  and  convicted  felon, 
Ashes  upon  my  head,  and,  in  my  heart, 
Anguish  that's  measureless — a  man  despised, 
Stained,  shunned,  shut  out  from  all  men's  sympathies? 
I  have  my  rights,  and,  though  so  friendless,  seek  them; 
I  have  my  rights,  and,  though  so  poor,  will  speak  them ; 
<I  have  my  rights,  and,  though  so  weak,  will  have 

them.  > 

I  ask  my  child,  and,  by  my  life,  I'll  have  her. 
I  say  I'll  have  her. — Some  ruffian  of  your  guard 
Ravished  her  from  me,  while  you  kept  me  here — 
Rolando — 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  711 


PALM. 


Again  art  thou  deceived, 
I  have  no  villains  in  my  keeping,  Febro, 
And  know, — of  all  my  household,  there  is  none 
So  named  Rolando. 

FEB. 

Tis  a  false  name,  then, 

The  wretch  is  here — he  has  my  daughter  too — 
Francisco  followed  him,  and  saw  him  enter, 
My  daughter  with  him. 

PALM. 

Say'st  thou  this,  Francisco? 

FRAN. 

I  do,  my  lord;  I  followed  him,  and  saw  him 
Pass,  with  my  sister,  through  the  private  gate— 

PALM. 

What  ho,  my  guard! — the  axeman  with  his  block! 
Let  every  man  o'  the  court  appear  before  me. 
Thou  shalt  have  justice,  Febro,  on  the  head 
Of  him  that  wrongs  thee. 

(ALL  come  in.} 

If  thou  know'st  the  man 
Point  me  him  out  among  this  multitude, 
Dishonored  though  thou  be,  by  all  the  saints, 
There  is  no  man  so  noble,  that  shall  wrong  thee, 
And  pay  no  reckoning  to  thy  miseries. 


712    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

Hah!  no,  no,  thou  art  not  Rolando — No — 
Dost  thou  not  see  him,  boy  ?    <  Is  he  not  here  ? 
Mine  eyes  are  dimming.  >    Let  the  villain  speak, 
If  he  will  straightway  give  me  up  my  child, 
I  will  forgive  him; — yea — and  will  pursue 
This  thing  no  further. 

FRAN. 
Rolando  is  not  here. 

PALM. 

Thou  seest,  thou  wert  mistaken  boy. 

FRAN. 

Your  highness,  no — 

I  saw  them  well,  Rolando  and  my  sister — 
She  turned  her  face,  when  I  did  call  to  her; 
Rolando  dragged  her  on. — 

PALM. 

Are  all  men  here  ? 
This  moves  me  much.     Search  thou  the  palace  o'er. 

(To  an  OFFICER.) 

Every  man's  lodge,  even  to  mine  own  apartments. 
Let  no  man  stay  thee.     (Exit  OFFICER.)    Hath  any  of 

the  guard 

Fled  from  the  palace?    The  ruffian  shall  be  found; 
I'll  search  the  city  for  him. 

(Enter  FERNANDO.) 

FEB. 

Hah! 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  713 

FRAN. 

Rolando ! 

FEB. 

Ha !  ha !  the  rogue !  the  villain !    I  have  him  fast ! 
Give  up  my  child ! 

PALM. 

How !  Febro ! 

FEB. 

This  is  the  man ! 

PALM. 

<  My  son !  my  son !    Down  from  my  seat  of  pomp, 
Into  the  earth  of  shame;  I  am  as  miserable, 
As  wretched  now  as  Febro.    Dost  thou  charge  him? 
What  him,  Baptista?>     This  is  my  son,  Fernando! 

FEB. 

Thy  son?    Thy  son  shall  ruin  my  poor  girl, 

And  break  my  heart!     Oh,   wretch,   where  is  my 

daughter  ? 

<Thou  didst  delude  her  from  me!    Ruined,  ruined! 
Howl  thou  in  hell  for  this !  yes,  howl,  forever ! > 
Thou  hast  stolen  the  dearest  daughter  of  the  earth, 
And  given  her  up  to  shame;  oh,  heaven  distract  thee, 
Make  thy  heart  mad,  but  not  thy  brain,  that  thou 
May'st  rot  within,  and  have  a  sense  of  it! 

<FERN. 

Oh,  saints,  avert  this  curse,  so  undeserved. 
Most  rash  old  man.  > 


714    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PALM. 

Didst  thou  ensnare  the  girl  ? 
<  Oh ,  wretched  boy !  > 

FERN. 

Dear  father!     Father,  pardon! 
(Kneeling.) 

FEB. 

You  hear  him?    He  confesses.     <O  bitter  wretch !> 

PALM. 

Stand  up  before  me  as  a  criminal, 
What — to  his  chambers!    Bring  the  maiden  forth, 
Old  man,  thou  shalt  have  justice,  though  the  gift 
Leave  me  all  childless. 

(Some  Officers  go  out.) 

FERN. 

Father! 

PALM. 

Peace,  false  wretch — 

Thy  judge— no  more  thy  father.     (A  noise.)     More 
woes  to  mad  us ! 

(Cries  of  "  Febro  is  innocent! ") 
What  cry  is  this? 

(RAMON  and  CABARERO  are  brought  in,  and  JUANA  and 
MENDOZA.) 

JUAN. 

Justice,  your  excellency! 

Justice  for  Febro !    Villains  have  entrapped  him ! 
False  witnesses  have  sworn  his  life  away, 
And  there  thou  seest  the  falsest! 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  715 

FEB. 

<Oh,  the  villain! 
Give  me  my  daughter,  and  then  judge  the  rogues.  > 

PALM. 

Speak,  maiden,  speak — if  heaven  have  left  me  now 
One  satisfaction  greater  than  the  grave, 
'T  will  be  to  right  this  wronged  man.    Which  is  he 
Thou  call'st  the  falsest  witness? 

JUAN. 

Look — 'tis  Ramon — 

FEB. 

Ramon,  my  son ! 

JUAN. 

He  did  confess  to  me, 
He  knew  his  father  innocent. 

FEB. 

Oho,  you  hear! 
I  knew  my  boy  would  right  me. 

(Going  toward  RAMON.) 

JUAN. 

Hence,  stand  back, 

Touch  not  corruption — look  on  him  no  more. 
I  do  denounce  him  to  your  excellency, 
As  one  conspiring  'gainst  his  father's  life. 

PALM. 
Oh,  most  unnatural — 


7i6    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FEB. 

Hearken   not   to   her — 
My  Ramon  ne'er  conspired  against  me. 

JUAN. 

Hear  me. 

He  was  my  betrothed  spouse,  and  well  I  loved  him: — 

I  give  him  up  to  justice,  and  accuse  him, 

Even  on  his  own  admission,  that  he  is — 

I  live  to  say 't — a  false  witness  and  a  robber ! 

<PALM. 

Can  this  be  so?> 

FEB. 

Oh,  thou  unnatural  girl ! 
Hearken  no  more,  your  highness — she  belies  him. — 

(Re-enter  IST  OFFICER.) 
Ramon  is  wronged,  and  very  innocent. 

IST  OFF. 

Please,  your  excellency, 

Pablo,  in  terror  of  the  rack,  confesses, — 

FEB. 
Pablo's  the  rogue  and  robber. 

IST  OFF. 

He  confesses 
Himself  participant  in  the  robbery — 

CAB. 

He  lies,  base  knave ! 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  717 

IST  OFF. 

And  charges,  with  his  oath, 
This  man,  Antonio,  and  the  broker's  son 
Ramon,  to  be  his  principals. 

PALM. 

Just  heaven! 
And  I  have  wronged  thee,  Febro? 

FEB. 

Pablo's  a  rogue! 
<What,  Ramon?     Ramon  rob  me?       Ramon,  my 

son !  > 

I  warn  your  highness,  Pablo  is  a  rogue, 
Not  to  be  trusted. 

CAB. 

An  atrocious  rogue — 

A  rogue  foresworn — and  moved  to  this  invention 
By  terror  of  the  wheel. 

FRAN. 

Brother,  confess — 

RAM. 

Away — 

FRAN. 

Confess,  and  save  thy  father's  life — 
Repair  the  wrongs  which  thou  hast  done  him. 


What  dost  thou  mean  ? 


FEB. 

Sirrah, 


7i8    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FRAN. 

What,  not  a  word?    Oh,  heaven, 
Look  down  with  pity  on  my  father  now ! 
Oh,  noiv,  your  highness,  spare  my  brother's  life, 
For  he  is  guilty  of  the  robbery. 

<CAB. 

<Hark  to  the  cub! — next  he  accuses  me.  > 

FEB. 

Why,  thou  base  boy,  dost  thou  accuse  thy  brother? 
Thy  brother,  wretch  ? 

FRAN. 

Father,  I  do;  forgive  me. 

FEB. 

I  curse  thee,  devil ! 

FRAN. 

Oh,  curse  me  not,  my  father — 
I  charge  him  to  save  thee — Hear  me,  my  father — 
Thou  know'st  this  rosary — 

FEB. 

'Tis  Ramon's — ay — 

It  was  his  mother's,  and  to  keep  her  ever 
Before  his  eyes — his  pure  and  holy  mother — 
With  mine  own  hands  I  hung  it  round  his  neck, 
To  be  the  talisman  of  his  memory. 

FRAN. 

Father,  this  found  I  in  the  vault. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  719 

FEB. 

The  vault! 
Ramon !  my  son !    My  Ramon ! — 

RAM. 

Guilty!  guilty! 

Give  me  to  death — for  I  have  killed  my  father ! 
I  am  the  robber  and  the  parricide — 
The  doomed  and  lost — the  lost — oh,  lost  forever! 

(Rushes  out.) 

PALM. 

Secure  young  Ramon : — This  vile  Antonio  too — 

This  devil-born  destroyer  of  men's  sons : 

I'll  make  him  an  example.    Look  to  them — 

Have  them  in  waiting. 

(CABARERO  is  taken  out.     MENDOZA  goes  with  them.) 

Fy,  how  now,  Baptista? 

We  have  done  thee  wrong? 

FEB. 

Well,  boy,  we  will  go  home — 
Confess  and  pray — Call  Leonor! 

FRAN. 

Oh,  father! 

PALM. 

His  wits  are  fled — oh,  fate,  these  thunderpeals 

So  flashing  through  the  heart,  have  done  their  work, 

And  the  mind's  temple  tumbles  into  ruin. 

Arouse  thee,  Febro!    Thy  wealth  shall  be  restored — 

Lucas,  the  miner,  hath  his  pit  recovered, 

And  pays  thee  back  a  golden  recompense. 


720   DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

FRAN. 

He  thinks  no  more  of  that. 

PALM. 

Thy  daughter,  Ferbo! 

FEB. 

I'll  have  you  moan  for  this ! 

PALM. 

Thou  shalt  have  justice. 
(LEONOR  is  brought  in.) 
Behold  thy  daughter!     Thou  shalt  have  justice  full. 

FEB. 
My  child !  my  child ! 

LEON. 

Dear  father!     (Kneels.) 

FEB. 

O  man  of  stone! 

Was  I  not  wo  enough,  but  you  must  steal 
My  seraph  from  me  ? 

PALM. 

Name  thou  his  punishment. 

If  it  be  death,  the  knave  shall  die. 

FERN.  (Kneeling.) 

Forgive  me ! 

I  could  not  speak  while  Febro  seemed  a  felon; 

Punish  me  now,  since  he  is  innocent. 


THE  BROKER  OF  BOGOTA  721 

I  stole  thy  daughter,  but  I  wronged  her  not ; 
Sire,  I  deceived  thee,  but  I  am  no  villain — 
Revoke  thy  curse:  and,  father,  bless  my  wife ! 

FEB. 

Is  it  even  so  ?  thy  wife  ? 

PALM. 

N  aught  else  is  left 

For  reparation — I  the  rites  acknowledge 
And  as  my  daughter  here  do  welcome  her. 

FEB. 

Thy  wife !  thy  honored  wife ! — You  do  receive  her  ? 
Why,  now  we  shall  be  happy — Heaven  be  thanked! 
Ha,  ha!  a  noble  husband  for  my  daughter! 
<A  virtuous,  honorable  gentleman  !> 
I'll  make  thee  rich!    She's  worthy  of  a  king. — 
Happy!  happy!  (A  cry.) 

(Re-enter  MENDOZA,  with  an  Officer.) 

MEN. 

Alas,  your  highness,  Ramon — 

FEB. 

Hah,  Ramon! — Oh,  thy  white  and  quivering  lips 
Speak  a  new  horror ! 

MEN. 

Pitying  his  grief, 

And  agony  of  mind,  we  led  him  forth 
On  the  balcony,  where,  confessing  straight 
In  what  dark  corner  he  had  hid  the  gold, 
O'  the  sudden,  with  a  shriek  of  desperation, 
He  flung  him  from  the  height — and — 
46 


722    DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BIRD 

PALM. 

Heaven! 

MEN. 


So  perished. 


[FEB. 
God,  God,  God!]     (FEBRO  falls.) 


<PALM. 

What,  Febro?    Hast  this  last  blow  cracked  thy  heart? 

There  comes  no  sin  without  its  sequent  wo ; — 

No  folly  but  begets  its  punishment; 

And  heaven,  that  strikes  the  malefactor  down, 

Even  with  the  greater  culprits  smites  the  less — 

The  rigid  sire  and  disobedient  son.  > 


THE  END. 


INDEX 


Adventures  of  Robin  Day,  The, 

8,  9,  14,  15,  105 
A  merican    Monthly   Magazine, 

The,  104,  112,  113,  114 
Appearance,    Bird's    personal, 

82,   122,   154 

Armitage,  Ann,  5 
Hon.  James,  5 

Baltimore  Convention,  127, 
128,  129,  131 

Barr,  Rev.  Samuel,  5,  6,  16 

Bird,  Rev.  Frederick  M.,  105, 
114,  128,  129,  146 

John,  i,  2 

John,  III.,  3,  5,  6 

Mrs.  Mary,  8,  9,  29,  71, 

122,  130,  151,  155 

Robert  Montgomery, 

birth,  i;  parentage,  1-5; 
childhood,  6-12;  school  days 
at  New  Castle  Academy,  13- 
15,  20,  21 ;  in  Philadelphia, 
19,  20;  at  Germantown 
Academy,  21-23;  at  Univer 
sity  of  Pennsylvania,  23-27; 
medical  practice,  28 ;  literary 
apprenticeship,  32-35;  Pelo- 
pidas,  37,  38;  The  Gladiator, 
38-49;  meets  Forrest,  39; 
Oralloossa,  53-55 ;  travels 
with  Forrest,  55-57;  The 
Broker  of  Bogota,  57-60; 
rewrites  Metamora,  60,  61; 
The  Gladiator  in  England, 
61-65 1  personal  and  financial 
relations  with  Forrest,  68- 
71 ;  Bird's  sources,  aims,  and 
methods  of  workmanship, 


71-75;  Calavar,  77-82;  in 
England,  82-86;  The  Infidel, 
86-90;  Hawks  of  Hawk  Hol 
low,  90-91;  Sheppard  Lee, 
93-96;  Nick  of  the  Woods, 
96-98;  Magazines,  98-104; 
Peter  Pilgrim,  104,  105; 
Adventures  of  Robin  Day, 
105;  income  from  novels, 
1 06;  English  editions,  106- 
107;  marriage,  108-110; 
farming,  115-119;  teaching, 
123-125;  politics,  125-129; 
journalism,  I33~i43>  144. 
150,  151;  death,  151-153: 
rank  as  man  of  letters,  153- 

159 

Thomas,  2,  3 

Thomas  Jefferson,  32 

&  Riddle,  6 

Black,  Dr.,  23,  24,  26,  27 
Boker,  George  H.,  39,  147-150 
Brewer,  John  M.,  21,  22 
Broker  of  Bogota,  The,  57-60, 

126,  146,  156,  157,  577-722 
Brown,  Brockden,  156 
Bryant,  William  Cullen,  37 
Bulwer,    Sir   Edward    Lytton, 

84,  85,  86 
Burton,  William  E.,  119,  120, 

121 

Cabin  Cave,  115-119,  121,  122 

Calavar,  77-82,  83,  84,  85,  86, 

155.  1 66 
Caridorf,  26,  35 

City  Looking  Glass,  The,  33,  35 
Clark,  L.  Gaylord,  99,  131 
Clark,  W.  Gaylord,  99 


723 


724 


INDEX 


Clarke,    Thomas   Cottrel,   99, 

in 

Clay,  Henry,  127,  135,  136 
Clayton,  John  M.,    125,    127, 

128,  131,  133,  137,  143,  145, 

146, 152 
Conrad,  Judge  R.  T.,  119,  120, 

134,  135,  136 
Cooper,  James  P.,  29,  77,  97, 

98,  158 
Copyright,  International,  101- 

104 
Cowled  Lover,  The,  26,  35 


Death,  151-153 
Death  of  Meleager,  The,  26 
Downing,  Robert,  154 
Dramatic  Author's  Bill, 


147- 


150 


Dramatization  of  novels,  107 
Dunlap,  William,  31,  32 
Durang,  Charles,  44 

Elizabethan  Drama,  Bird  on, 

25,26 

Emerson,  R.  W.,  30 
Empson,  Cornelius,  2 
English  Editions  of  Bird,  106, 

107, 155 
Episcopalian  Church,  The,  19 

Fanatick,  The,  34 

Farming,  115-119,  121,  122 

Forrest,  Edwin,  36-40,  41-49, 
53-55,  61-65,  65-68,  68-71, 
119,  120,  131,  145,  146,  154, 
156,  158 

French  and  Indian  War,  4 

Friendships,  130,  131 

Frost,  John,  120,  121,  131,  132 

Germantown   Academy,    The, 

21,  22,  23,   123 

Gladiator,  The,  38-41,  41-44, 
44-49,  51,  52,  61-65,  65-68, 
72,  120,  126,  146,  156,  157, 
297-440 

Giannone,  34 

Godey's  Lady's  Book,  99 


Graham,  George  R.,  119,  133, 

134,  135,  T36,  137,  138,  14° 
Grimes,  John,  26,  92,  93,  105 

Halleck,  Fitz-Greene,  37 
Hawks  of  Hawk  Hollow,   The, 

90-91,  106 
Hoffman,  Charles  Fenno,  99, 

III,  112 

Home-life,  Bird's,  130 
Howe,  Samuel  G.,  112 

Ice  Island,  The,  35 

111  health,  113,  114,  144,  150, 

151 

Income  from  novels,  106 
Infidel,  The,  86-90,  156 
Ipsico  Poe,  105 
Isidora,  34 

Johnson,  Walter  R.,  21-23, 123 
Jones,  Joseph  S.,  31 
Journalism,  133-144 

Knickerbocker    Magazine,    86, 

99,  100,  101-104,  no 
King  Philip,  34 

Lafayette,  General,  7,  9,  u 
Lawson,  James,  37,  82,  86-88, 

89, 131 

Leggett,  William,  36,  37 
Lexington,  Battle  of,  4 
Lounsbury,  Thomas  R.,  30 

Magazines,  Bird  and  the,  98- 

104,  110-113 

Mammoth  Cave,  92,  105,  112 
Marriage,  Bird's,  108 
Martineau,  Harriet,   102-104 
Matthews,  Brander,  29 
Mayer,  family,  The,  109-110 
Dr.  Edward  R.,  61,  151, 

152,  153 
Misses,  83,  84,  109,  no 

-  Rev.  Philip  P.,  109,  no, 
132 
McClellan,   Dr.    George,    119, 

120,  121,  123,  125,  131,  132, 

146 
McCullough,  John,  154,  158 


INDEX 


725 


McKean,  Thomas,  4 
McMichael,  Morton,  133,  134, 

J35,  136,  138,  140 
Medical  practice,  28 
Men  of  the  Hills,  34 
Metamora,  37,  60-6 1,  70 
Mexico,  Bird's  interest  in,  55, 

57,  77 

New  Amstel,  n,  16 

New  Castle,  i,  3,  4,  5,  6,  9,  10- 

16,  20,  21,  115,  122,  125,  127, 
138 

New  Castle  Academy,  3,  13- 

15,  20,  21 

News  of  the  Night,  26 

Nick  of  the  Woods,  27,  96-98, 

147,  154,  155 
North  American,  The,  132,  133- 

J43,  151,  159 

Oralloossa,  53-55,  126,  146,  156, 
157,  441-576 

Parrish,  Dr.  Joseph,  24 
Pelopidas,  37-38,  119,  120,  121, 

126,  157,  171-296 
Pennypacker,  Hon.  S.  W.,  155 
Pennsylvania  Medical  College, 

123 
Philadelphia,  16,  20,  24,  27,  28, 

32,  40,  43,  52,  53,  54,  57,  94, 

108,  109,  in,  112,  119,  123, 

!33,  134,  J36,  153 
Philadelphia      Central      High 

School,  132 
Philadelphia  Monthly  Magazine, 

The,  26,  33 

Poe,  Edgar  A.,  91,  95,  100-101 
Political  Life,  Bird's,  125-129 
Powers,  Hiram,  131 


Prescott,  W.  H.,  158 
Presbyterian  Church,  The,  7 

Rodney,  Miss  Emily,  122 

Saul's  Last  Day,  26 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  29,  87,  88, 

91,  101,  158,  159 
Secret  Records,   39-41,    50-52, 

74-75 

Sheppard  Lee,  93-96 
Smithsonian    Institution,    126, 

127,  132,  133 

Snowden's  Magazine,  23,  76 
Southern    Literary    Messenger, 

IOO-IOI,   110 

Spirit  of  the  Reeds,  The,  35 
Stone,  John  Augustus,  37,  60- 
61,70 

Teaching,  123-125 

'Twas  All  for  the  Best,  26,  35 

University    of    Pennsylvania, 
23-27,  29,  1 10 

Van  Dyke,  Dorcas,  8,  9,  108, 

109 
Hon.   Nicholas,   5,   6,   7, 

10,  15,  17-19 
Van  Leuvenigh,  Elizabeth,  3, 

5,  6,  16-19 
Hendrick,  4 

—  Zachariah,  4,  5 
Volunteers,  The,  34 

Wetmore,  Prosper  M.,  37,  57 
Whig  Party,  The,  125,  126,  127, 

128,  129 
Willis,   Nathaniel   Parker,   90, 

91 


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